Crossroads
by Agent Xero
Summary: September had pulled someone through time once before, he could do it again. He had to give Peter something to fight for, if not all hope for the future was lost... AU
1. A Shimmering Glimpse

**Notes:** I was going to wait until after "Crash into You" was done, but I just couldn't resist getting feedback for this first chapter! So thanks for stopping by!

I had this idea arise after the epic season 3 finale, and all the talk of who the characters would be if a certain aspect of their life hadn't changed, or it had changed. Well, running with that, and it's taken me until now to get a solid storyline down. Mind you, this will definitely be AU from the series but hold elements of the seasons, so bear with me and I promise a wild ride in the making! We'll be flipping between timelines every few chapters, so stick with me and I promise a wild ride!

**Timeline**: Starts December 2008, sometime before "In Which We Meet Mr. Jones", AU since the series opener, "Pilot". Just read and see.

Reviews welcome!

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><p><strong>Something to Fight For<strong>  
>Fanfiction by: White Time Ranger<p>

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><p><strong><em>Chapter 1: A Shimmering Glimpse<em>**

_Harvard Lab  
>02:30pm, December 2008<em>

"You look like hell, Bishop," came a deep voice that jolted Peter out of his not so pleasant sleep, the paper he had been writing on had stuck to his cheek now fluttered carelessly back down to the desk, the ink smudged. He could feel it on his cheek as he groaned and shook the sleep from his eyes. "Maybe you should consider _actually_ getting some sleep at night instead of these random mid-day naps."

Peter huffed at the man leaning on the corner of his desk and shook the fatigue from his eyes, glaring at the man who happened to disturb him. The only thing Peter could do was simply grin. Agent John Scott wasn't always a kidder. In fact, Peter hated the guy when he first met him. The 'gung-ho super secret hot-shot FBI Agent' attitude was what drove Peter almost over the edge with annoyance for him, but that changed slowly over the past three months.

"Well perhaps you'd be willing to talk to your _girlfriend_ about cutting me some slack," he motioned to where the eye-catching Agent Olivia Dunham sat across the lab, glasses perched precariously on the brim of her nose as she read through a file, taking notes furiously, "I've been averaging about three hours of sleep a night since this little _Fringe Division_ project began. Talk to her then I'll stop falling asleep."

John chuckled. "Well unfortunately that's her call, not mine. Your super secret Fringe project Broyles has thrown together is still working out the kinks, I wouldn't fight for front row parking just yet." His eyes moved to where Olivia stood, stretched and obtained a new file from a cabinet, shucking her jacket off and hanging it on the hat rack. She ran her fingers through her loose hair. "I just bring lunch and come for a visit every now and then when I'm on my way back to the office."

"Oh come off it, I'm sure you could work _some_ magic to get me at least a weekend off," Walter sounded off in the lab, making Peter roll his eyes, "Or at least a weekend away."

John slapped his shoulder and winked. "I'll see what I can work out, Bishop. No promises." He exited and hoped down the stairs and rounded a corner, working his way towards the other office where Olivia worked furiously. Peter watched as a small hint of jealously crept up his spine at the two. John knocked on the wood, startling the young Agent, making her smile widely as he bent down and gave her a quick kiss.

From what Peter had learned of Olivia Dunham in the past ten or so weeks, she wasn't a huge fan of public displays of affection towards her partner, the dual meaning to the term making him gag a few times. When it was just her and him, alone in her little office, fireworks seemed to fly. He'd sometimes catch glances of them kissing, and just once his hand snaking inside her shirt. John removed his jacket as well, joining hers. Rolling his eyes he turned back to the microscope. That didn't last for long as he heard her addictive laugh echo into his office, turning his eyes upward again.

She sat back, amused by whatever John was saying, then amazed, disbelief, then back to amusement. Whatever the conversation was it barely reached his hearing range as his heart fluttered watching Olivia laugh. He had a small admiration for her; her driving spirit, the way she could command a room or a scene with just her presence. Her looks didn't bother him at all either. But she belonged to John. He shouldn't be jealous of John, really. He owed his job to the Agent. In return for saving Agent Scott from the fate of the chemicals on Flight 627, John had made sure Peter's debts were paid off and that his job was secured, not only working alongside is eccentric father, but as a paid civilian consultant to the higher ups of the FBI, specifically to the Fringe Division, responsible for solving some of the strange, inexplicable cases that crossed their threshold, as well as trying to nab one of the most well funded, most wanted, and greatest government covered threat to the American way of life- a group known as ZFT.

At first, Peter wanted nothing to do with Fringe, with John, his father, and even Agent Dunham. But something changed one night a few weeks ago, when a mysterious man, an oblong capsule and a frightening interaction changed everything. This strange, well pressed and emotionless man _knew_ Peter. Knew who he was, where he was, and knew _what he was thinking_. He awoke up on the floor, Olivia standing over him, her beautiful face filled with concern as he came to. After signing out of the hospital, he agreed to say. Something strange was going on. Strange was his cat's meow.

A phone rang across the hallway, gaining Peter's attention towards the young Agent once again. After swallowing a mouthful of water, Olivia answered, the laughter dissipated from her face as she jumped, grabbing her jacket and made her way over to where Peter pretended to work.

"Hey," she breathed and rapped her knuckles on his door frame, "That was Charlie, we've got a case," John handed Olivia her suit jacket, "Can you collect Walter for me, please?" Peter nodded silently and stood just beyond her field of vision, watching her and John as he kissed her goodbye at the door.

"Walter!" Peter hollered towards the back room, "Let's get a move on, kiddo, we've got a case!"

Walter bounced happily out of the bathroom, his pants nearly tripping him at the ankles, a wide smile on his wrinkled face. "Wonderful! I'll get my equipment!" Shimming back, Peter rolled his eyes and signed knowing it'd be another fifteen minutes or so before his crazy father was ready. He stole a glance to where Olivia stood, dialing her phone once again, and waved towards him, a _'we'll meet you there'_ gesture that he had come to know well by now.

As she left, Peter let his eyes linger on her bouncing blonde locks, and the shining glimmer in her eyes. He caught site of her out the window, entering her SUV, blue and red lights flashing as she whipped the siren and sped off towards whatever gruesome case they were assigned to. Finally Walter surfaced with his wool cap and the father and son duo left the comfort of Walter's lab and emerged into the bright afternoon sun.

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><p><em>Kensington Park<br>3:00pm_

"Agent Francis, Agent Dunham," the young Agent's voice shook slightly as she stood tall and erect at the curb as Charlie and Olivia excited the vehicle, her eyes avoiding the SUV as much as she could. First day on the job, and already the jitters were overwhelming. There were few new FBI Agents who made it this far were able to contain their nervousness. Not when it came to gruesome cases like this. The last new Agent who arrived and worked a Fringe case lasted two hours before resigning his commission completely.

Olivia tried to comfort the new Agent. Her brown eyes showed promise. "You must be the new Agent assigned to the division," she greeted the young girl with a smile. "Name?"

The girl rose her chin slightly, her eyes daring to glance at her senior field agents, "Farnsworth, ma'am. Junior Agent Astrid Farnsworth."

Charlie nodded. "Well, Agent Farnsworth, welcome to Fringe Division. We have one rule and one rule only."

"Sir?" she asked, her curiosity spiked.

Charlie grinned, glancing at Olivia. "Whoever loses their lunch first buys dinner." Without skipping a beat Charlie continued into the crime scene, a small smile on his face.

Despite her darker complexion, Astrid went pale, eliciting a small chuckle from Olivia who gave her a reassuring slap on the shoulder, directing the young Agent towards their crime scene. Behind her the station wagon of the Bishops blasted to a stop, and Peter and Walter could be heard arguing over something petty. Turning towards them Olivia shook her head and directed Astrid inside to where the mangled body of a woman lay, dismembered and reeking of decay.

Astrid swallowed. "This isn't what they teach you in the Academy," she squeaked, swallowing the lump in her throat.

"Exactly. So tell me, Agent Farnsworth, what are you thinking?" Olivia asked curiously, reading the harrowing and yet enthralling look on her new Agent's face.

"Other than what you people do is absolutely disgusting," she began, licking her lips unevenly and glancing at Olivia, "Looking around the room, other than around the body there doesn't seem to be signs of a struggle." Astrid moved towards the windows at the lower level, examining them. "All the windows on the lower level are locked, so possibly one route of entrance and exit, the front door. Neighbor reports the front door being open when they came to check which means either the victim keeps her door unlocked or she knew the killer."

Olivia smiled. She was smarter than she let on to be. Stepping aside, she peered down around the body, "Anything else?"

Something curious caught Astrid's eye as she bent down. "Look," she pointed at the dismembered left leg, "These incisions are clean cut, not jagged, unlike the rest of the body. It takes a very strong person to cleanly sever an entire thigh in just one swing. Means the killer is strong, probably male with a stocky build and has access to sharp tools, possibly gardening tools."

"Not looking for a replacement for my job already, are you, Agent Dunham?" Walter's voice greeted them with a jolly call. "Well, for Peter's job at least."

"I wouldn't dream of it, Walter," she grinned. Beside her Peter dropped the cases and sighed. "Out of shape, Bishop?" Was that a tease or a mockery, Peter wasn't sure.

He huffed. "You wish, Dunham. I could take you on in an instant. I've got bigger guns," he flexed his biceps.

"I have _actual_ guns," she smirked and moved behind Astrid, introducing her to the awkward pair.

Peter chewed his lip as she gave him a sideways smile, her emerald eyes dipping below her cheeks and she grinned. He loved to banter with her; it was more fun than arguing. They were both stubborn as mules and intelligent in their own ways, which always made it fun to throw it back to her. Not many women could hold to his sarcastic wits. Olivia Dunham was a good exception to his theory.

For the next few hours they spent scouring the crime scene for any and every piece of evidence they could find, speculating that any speck of dust may lead to a clue, that any small breath of wind held the scent of whatever they were looking for. Around seven in the evening they called it quits and packed up, the body shipping back to Walter's lab for analysis and to create any speculations they could find.

Ten o'clock rolled around quickly as Peter found himself alone in the lab with nothing but a lamp, his microscope and the intangible Agent Dunham sitting across from him chewing aimlessly on the pen cap, her eyes focused at reading whatever report had printed from the printer only moments ago. Walter had left long ago, brought home by the new Agent Farnsworth and received her first dose of Walter. Peter just hoped Walter kept his clothes on until he got home. If there was a time of day he enjoyed the most, it was here and now with just him and Olivia in the lab, reviewing case notes and cataloging evidence. Even in complete silence he felt most relaxed as the scent of limes and strawberries drifted towards him.

She let out a bellowing yawn, subconsciously stretching so the tails of her shirt ever so slightly cleared her pants revealing a small portion of her milky skin of her abdomen. Peter couldn't help but look.

"You know, if you're tired, I can walk to the hotel from here," he said, breaking the silence between them. Removing her glasses Olivia rubbed her eyes. Even in the dim lit light her eyes glowed bright green, their edges had a hint of ocean blue.

"It's fine, really. John doesn't normally get home till eleven or so anyway. No sense in sitting alone at home reading files when I can be here and have some company." She glanced at him over the papers, a small smile spread across her lips. God, he loved that smile. "Besides, he's cranky at night. I'd rather let him get home first; get to bed so I don't have to hear him complain. He's a teddy bear, but a grouch when he's up running a case all day."

Peter grinned. Her phone buzzed as she answered it, instantly Peter knew who was on the other line.

"Hi baby, you home already?" she spoke, the other line merely garble to Peter, "Well I'm glad they let you out early, Peter and I are finishing up some paperwork, I'll be home in a half hour or so." She listened, her teeth nibbling at the mangled cap, "Okay, oh-okay. I'll see you in a bit." Pause. "Love you too, bye." She hung up with a beep. "They got out early, apparently they nabbed the guy they were after, the guys went out for drinks and he's home. A little tipsy, but hey, you need to celebrate the good days, right?" she shrugged.

Peter nodded. "I'm done, so you can get home." She followed his nod with one of her own as they began to pack up, locking the files away and cleaning up their area. Closing the lights down they headed towards her SUV and began the short drive back to the hotel where Walter and Peter were being treated, compliments of the FBI.

He couldn't help but steal glances at her when she turned the car, her side profile glowed green and red with the passing streetlights, and white by the lamps, passing light across the bridge of her nose and bounced off her eyes, illuminating them. How could he not notice? Maybe the jealousy he felt from John was justified after all. She didn't flaunt it, but the Agent who pulled up into the parking lot wasn't bad to look at. Not at all.

"That'll be $23.50, Mr. Bishop," she chuckled and unlocked the doors.

"Put it on my tab," he said, exciting the door and leaning into the open window. "Maybe I'll take you out to dinner to pay you back. Drinks are on me."

Olivia smiled, dipping her head low, her cheeks glowing. "Good night, Peter. See you in the morning."

He smiled back. "Good night, Olivia." He watched her pull away and drive around the corner, his lips still pulled high on his cheeks. Maybe if John wasn't in the picture he would have had a chance. The chance of that happening, he knew, was slim to none. He wouldn't have a shot in hell. He had more fun arguing with her, and he wouldn't change that for the world.

"I am glad you are here, Peter," came the monotone voice behind him. A man emerged from the shadows of the building, brief case and pressed suit in perfect accord. "You need to see something. Please. Follow me."

Peter stood hesitantly. The Observers were something Olivia had warned him about, the mysterious bald guys who simply watched, observed- hence the name- and made no interaction. This was the first time they ever tried to contact one of his team. "What do I need to see?"

"Please do not ask questions," the Observer said, "We do not have much time. Follow me." Taking a small step Peter moved towards the Observer as he seemed to glide through the air, his feet barely making a connection with the concrete. They moved on top of a hill. "Close your eyes, Peter. Feel the future flow through you."

Peter sighed, doing as he was told. "This better not be some weird Yoda crap," he said and opened his eyes to find himself standing in nothing more than a hedge, the space between them small. He groaned as a branch stuck his lower back, cursing loudly. But he was silenced by the Observer as he pointed. It wasn't just a hedge, it was a backyard. In the middle of the night. A hot, humid, disgusting night by any accord.

What caught Peter's attention was the man sitting in a lounge chair, staring up at the starry night. A bottle of almond liquid was in one hand, the other covering his eyes. The man was crying, near sobbing. He could smell the alcohol from here, his face unclear from the distance and the darkness.

"Look at this man. He is broken, suffering an impeccable loss, one that no man should have to endure," the Observer spoke, his eyes trained.

His curiosity spiked. "Who is he? Why is he upset?"

"You'll find out soon enough, but what happened is tragic. His wife was killed by his father, in cold blood when all she was trying to do was make the world, this world, your world a better place."

Peter's heart sunk for this broken, sobbing and highly intoxicated man who was supported by the chair. "No one should ever have to suffer that kind of loss, it's heartbreaking."

The Observer turned to him. "In time, Peter, you shall know this man. He needs something to fight for, and you can help him with that."

"How?" Peter asked.

The Observer turned towards him. "Again, in time, you shall know. For now, we return."

In the blink of an eye Peter was back standing in front of the hotel, his head swimming by the image of the man he had witnessed, the man who the Observer took him to see. Who was he, was the mystery. Who was his wife and who was the man's father that killed her? Peter made a mental note to begin a small investigation and search for any women killed in, other than their case, in the past six months; maybe he could help solve both cases and put this aching man's heart to rest.

With the adrenaline beginning to wind down he made his way upstairs and showered, making his bed on the couch and closed his eyes, drifting slowly off into sleep. The images flashed easily, non-threatening in his head, of Walter, of Charlie, of the case, but one image, one beautiful image made him smile in his sleep.

_Peter was standing on a church alter with wedding bells echoing in his head as he stood dressed in a tux, a smile on his face. Standing in front of him stood his bride, the dress clinging to her beautiful body as the bells rang loudly, cheers of friends and family bounced around him. Slowly he raised the veil to reveal her face, carved by angels with eyes glowing beaming emerald waves around them as four simple words echoed in his head as he kissed her lovingly, feeling her smile against him._

_Olivia Dunham. My everything. _

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><p><em>Bishop Residence<br>02:30am, year 2026_

The night sky was clear, crisp and sprinkled with stars; each small, bright pinhole poked through the black velvet in which it was cased and illuminating with the shine of their own burning sun; an infinite light that reached the warmed atmosphere of earth from whatever increment of miles away they were with their small fingers of light reaching to be seen by the human eyes, to touch the inner soul of whomever was privileged to gaze upon them. Their shapes were never perfect, one of the reasons they were so amazing to gaze at; circular squares and triangular rectangles speckled across the beltway, rhinestones encased in black glass that seemed almost unbreakable, no matter how many times one pointed upwards at a constellation. They all had their own agenda, never caring what the others thought. They were their own matter.

Shades of black and purple cast dark spacey shadows across the heated earth, elongating everything it touched; its air electric with a spark of summer and the heaviness of sorrow. While the sun burned halfway around the world, the night cooled with the blanket of the glowing, vast emptiness that cased him in, a cocoon that wrapped around his tall, lean frame loosely, only echoing his own sadness and loneliness.

Second to sunsets, she always loved looking at the stars.

There were countless nights, as infinite as the stars, where he and Olivia would sit on the back patio of the Bishop's old house, curled up in a ball on the swinging deck chair Walter was insistent on purchasing. Despite its hideous features and haphazardly built wooden frame, the long moving futon was one of her favorite places in his house, secondary to his bed. Over the years they had worked their own grooves into the lumpy cushion. She would curl herself into his arms, sipping a glass of wine or whiskey and just stare into the sky, pointing out various familiar formations and even once spotted a shooting star. He'd often stare into her green eyes, sparkling with their own light and wonder how on earth she chose him to fall in love with.

Peter closed his eyes again as tears fell from them, another beautifully painful memory coming back to him. It was a few weeks after they started dating- officially dating, at least. It was after her thirty-second birthday. It was one of his favorite memories of her, a rare remembrance before the war between the worlds started.

"_Peter," she yawned and stretched as she curled into him, her shoulder completing the puzzle against his as her arm sneaked around and settled in the void between the cushion and his back comfortably. Her other wrapped around his waist to lock her hands together around him. Her forehead tucked into his neck so perfectly as Peter draped his arm around her, his hand coming to rest on the outside of her sweatpants, the other lazily resting at his side. "You do realize it's almost four in the morning, and we need to be up for work in a few hours. That is of course if Broyles doesn't call at six like he has been doing." _

_Peter grinned down at her, sleep still hung heavy in her eyes. "Give it a few minutes, Liv, it'll be worth it, I promise." He lovingly kissed her forehead, letting his lips linger for a second longer before she snuggled against him; the warm summer night was rather welcoming to her skin, cooled by the air conditioning in the old house. "I still can't believe you've never watched a meteor shower." _

_She shrugged against him, yawned again and closed her eyes, sighing. "Never had time. I was always sleeping when it happens." He caught a small grumble in her voice that made him chuckle. She sighed again and relaxed against him, chuckling, "You know there's always YouTube." _

_Peter's laughed bellowed. "There's nothing like watching it in person. Have I ever given you reason to not trust me?" The only response she gave was to stare at him, squinting her brows together as she rose one teasingly, begging him to allow her to answer. "Alright, forget that question." _

"_Smart man," she said, placing her head back on his chest. A flash of light streaked across the sky, catching her attention and he felt her body wake up as the shower began. Slowly, once, twice, a shooting star fell across their eyes, and then stopped. A minute or two went by. "That was it?" she asked flatly, "I'm not impressed." _

"_Patience is a virtue," he said slowly. _

_Suddenly the sky burst with light as thousands of meteors came flying past the atmosphere, illuminating the purple sky with a pale, pure white light. Colors mended and blended as they flew past. Peter smiled as her eyes widened at the sight, her eyes following as many as she could across the sky's band. In and out they floated. He glanced at her eyes; the reflection of the light bounced across her green seas as she relaxed against him again, a rare, wide smile on her face as she clearly enjoyed the sight. _

"_It's beautiful," she whispered, "I guess I've been missing out." She turned towards him, meeting Peter's blue eyes._

_Peter smiled back towards her. "So I won't get killed for this in the morning, then? As long as the coffee's ready, I assume." _

"_We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," she smiled and kissed him. _

He could still taste her honey-sweet lips on his as he replayed the memory over and over in his head. Despite the time in the morning, they made love beneath the illuminated night sky, their bodies shedding clothes rapidly until it was just her body beneath his, her skin melting into his, her lips always smiling against his. He remembered her body, each curve and crevice ghosted across his fingertips. He felt the weight of her hair on his shoulders, the scratching of her fingernails on his back as he moved above her tenderly, whispering her name over and over, and never grew tired of saying it.

Peter licked his dry lips trying to taste her again. All he got was the sting of the whiskey, masking her from him. Another tear streaked down his face as he sat alone outside and stared upwards at the heavens. It had been a month since Olivia was killed, gunned down in cold blood, a vengeful murder by a man he once called father. It was thirty days since her casket set afloat and burned, setting her once-tormented soul free. Every night he saw her body in the morgue, a nightmare that he could never shake free of.

The coldness of her lips, the limpness of her arms, and the lifelessness of her eyes made Peter want to die right there with her. His Olivia, his wife, his everything was no more. They had fought for years to have a happy life, and despite all the setbacks, the arguments, even the ongoing war they managed to stick together through it all. That dream was shattered by the image of her lying on the metal table with a bullet in her head was something he never wanted to see, but forced himself to do to say goodbye.

If only he had called Ella back when he got to the lake house; he may have had the chance to save her. Maybe he could have even died there with her. His head had been filled with so many 'what ifs' lately it drove him insane. What if he married her a year earlier than he intended? Would they have had kids? Would she let them have kids? Would she have stepped out of the field earlier? What if he never stepped into the machine? What would the war have been like? Would Walter have been imprisoned? But there was only one question that plagued him; one that the answer never changed.

What if he had killed Walternate when he got the chance, all those years ago when he first made contact? He knew the answer to that. She'd still be alive. Here. In his arms. She'd be alive, and smiling and cursing him for keeping her up late. Peter knew what he would do if she were alive. He would admit defeat, tell her she was right, that she was _always_ right and make love to her over and over like they were two love struck teenagers until they were both tired and sore, and collapse into her arms. He'd tell her how much he loves her and would never let go. Ever.

But she _was_ right. If he stayed off his feet after the explosion, maybe he could have convinced her to stay home and take care of him, rather, make sure he didn't do anything stupid. Maybe she could have run things from home. Olivia would occasionally do that, given the circumstance was appropriate. He always liked it when she did that. They could spend the entire day in bed, lounging around the house and take care of business from home. Astrid was more than capable of doing it herself when they went away from it all.

But now all that was just a memory, a breath of wind that was gone the very second it came. She was gone. The last eighteen years or so of his life with her, all their talks of kids, grand-kids, retirement, and being buried next to each other; all the conversations and arguments they'd never have and childish make-up sex, which Peter knew Olivia would never admit she enjoyed, were gone eliminated in a split second in an act fueled by revenge and hatred. Eighteen years of memories stained in glass, only to have it shattered in the blink of an eye. He closed his eyes as tears fell, and whispered her name into the silent night sky.

Opening his eyes again Peter gazed across the backyard of their house and froze as he caught sight of a man standing on the edge of their property. He blinked, throwing the hallucination to the three-quarters of a bottle of Jack Daniels he had polished off. Blinking again the man stood still, his glassy eyes reflected the night sky. Peter recognized this man, an old memory stirred. The pressed black suit. The plain fedora. The leather suitcase. The blank expression on his eyes. He hadn't seen this man in almost two decades.

An Observer. The one Olivia called September. Standing next to the Observer was a man. A familiar man, a face Peter recognized instantly.

Standing next to the Observer, was Peter himself.

The alcohol surged through his brain, mixing with the adrenaline as Peter Bishop stood and crashed to the ground, reaching unsteadily for his gun, clicked the safety off, and turned around to find the Observer and… himself gone in the blink of an eye, and leaving Peter once again, alone, baffled, with his bottle of whiskey and his only company being the stars that shone brightly overhead.

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><p><em>Chapter 2 coming soon! Reviews are awesome! <em>


	2. A Better Man

_**Author's Notes:**__ Thanks for reading and reviewing, everyone, glad you've enjoyed it! SO no one's confused, I decided on a last minute title change that I think will fit the story better. Same idea, just a different title. Reason to be revealed soon! _

_For anyone reading "Crash into You", expect updates this coming week as well!_

_This chapter took a bit more time to get done; I had a little research I had to do for it! Anyway, chapter two for your reading pleasure, please review afterwards! _

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><p><strong>A Better Man<strong>

_Bishop Residence  
>9:00am, year 2026<em>

Astrid sighed heavily as she exited her car to survey the landscape around her, finally getting a grave firsthand glance at the effects of Olivia's death on Peter. The windows on the house were closed, sealed shut despite the pleasantly warm, breezy atmosphere that morning. The grass had grown into a two foot high forest, instantly making Astrid think the absurd idea to carry a machete in her trunk. An overwhelming sadness began to creep into her at the site of the Bishop house, and the coldness radiating in the yard gave her goose bumps. All colors seemed to leech from the air around her as she walked past the mailbox, feeling herself move in slow motion. The site for her was surreal, cementing in the loss that echoed her surroundings.

Flowers that used to bloom in the flower boxes- velvet reds, brilliant blues, even exotic yellows and oranges were no more than faded brown stems, leaning over like fallen soldiers who perished in the fight for survival. Hedges that lined the exterior walls, once fat and thick with life were no more than mere twigs, anorexic and angular. The pale blue paint of their house was faded and decayed, mimicking the dark gray death that sat over the house. She drew in a deep breath and tried to fight back the lead balloon rising in her chest.

What struck her most was the site of a faded white rocking chair that sat on the front porch; its wood aged by the weather and time. It was Olivia's favorite place to sit. Whenever Astrid and her husband would come for dinner they would always find her sitting there while Peter cooked, reading a book or talking with Ella on the phone, always in motion, rocking and swaying like the soft breeze that used to blow. Now it sat barren, alone and eerily still, motionless by the high pressure surrounding the house. It seemed fused to the ground, steady, flat and frozen. Walking up the front steps the wood creaked underneath her feet, screaming at the attention she put to them. She was sure Peter hadn't left the house since the funeral.

Since Olivia died Peter had shut down and crawled inside his own sadness, banking away from everything. Astrid had taken up the lead at Fringe Headquarters waiting for the day Peter would come back. She hadn't heard from Peter in a week, and once her worry overflowed she ventured here and her suspicions were confirmed. Peter had taken up a lifeless residence in his own coffin; a house filled with memories of his beloved wife and nailed the doors to his outside world shut, burying himself in everything that was her.

Drawing in a deep breath she quietly rapped her knuckles on the hollow front door. Minutes passed between her knocks and on the fourth round she finally took out the key Olivia had given her when they moved in and opened the door. Walking into the threshold she called his name. The only answer she got was a vibration of her own voice against her ears. Walking along the hall to the living room she caught sight of the many pictures hanging on the wall, and her heart halted slightly, fluttering against her chest wall. She had walked past this wall dozens of times, but now, it had new meaning.

All that was left was memories.

Astrid's favorite picture of her and Olivia hung on the wall in the corner, a photograph of them in front of a hotel in Las Vegas, 2014, a little vacation the team planned for Peter's birthday, and where Peter proposed. Another memory was one of Peter and Olivia kissing by the Eiffel Tower after she accepted the ring, one of Astrid's many favorites of them, and made her smile, biting her lip. There were a few of Peter and Walter, and the seemingly ancient photographs Walter held on to. Other pictures lined her wall of Ella's high school graduation, with her and Rachel, God rest her soul, Astrid thought. She spotted some of Olivia when she was younger, with her family before her life went to hell. Another was Olivia's graduation ceremony from the Marines. She looked so young.

The last one to catch her eyes was their wedding picture. She remembered that day so well, a motion picture playing over and over that truly brought tears to her eyes. Olivia had chosen a simple white dress and Peter, a decadent black tuxedo and bow tie, flattering to him. The bright smile on Olivia's face as she stared into Peter's eyes was a beautiful distraction, enabling them to forget about the confusion and chaos that began to plague their world a few short months after. The picture next to it always made her laugh; of Peter shoving a large piece of cake into her mouth, and Olivia's shocked expression was priceless.

"It took you a while," she whispered, salty tears falling to the corners of her mouth, "But you finally got what you deserved, Olivia. I just hope Peter can function without you."

Light reflected off the wall and caught her attention. Through the living room doors she saw a hand resting over the edge of a chair and an empty bottle of whiskey fell to the ground. She slowly shook her head. She should have known he'd be there, crawled into the end of bottle of Jack. Her heels clicked against the linoleum as she opened the door.

"Peter," she said cautiously, "It's Astrid." She moved around the side and sat on the chair next to him as Peter turned his head slowly towards her. "I… came to check up on you." His eyes were swollen, sunken and his lips pale dried and cracked, semi-hidden by the beard he had neglected to shave. "How… how are you?"

His voice cracked, his eyes shielded by his hand of the bright morning sun, "I'm fine." Simple words told the biggest lies.

She did her best to control the quivering sigh rising from her lungs. "We've really missed you at work, Peter. Everyone's been asking for you." He didn't move from his spot, eyes fixed on the fence, lost in bewilderment.

"Tell them I'm fine." His face was thinned. He hadn't eaten in a week, she guessed. In a way, he reminded her of the hedges in the front yard. Colorless, weak and lifeless.

Astrid swallowed, choosing her words carefully. "Peter, you're not fine. I get you're mourning, but Peter, this isn't healthy."

"I don't care," he said flatly, his lips barely moving, silent tears rolling down his cheeks. "Not anymore."

She huffed, throwing one hand into the air. "So that's it then? You're just going to roll over and wait to die, is that it?"

His eyes were still closed. "Yes."

Yelling at him wouldn't do any good. That, she learned from Olivia. "Peter, we really need you back at work. Moreau and Walternate have been spotted; we're thinking they're planning something bigger with the electrolytes. This could be our chance to catch them."

"What's the point, Astrid?" he croaked. "Walternate won. He took what he wanted and he's won. Olivia's gone. So what's the point in fighting?"

"The _point_?" she asked, astounded. "The point, _Peter_, is that you're doing Olivia no good by just sitting here." She bowed her head and sighed. "I miss her just as much as you do but what good is it doing here, getting smashed each night when we could catch her killer? You're really going to let Walternate get away with taking her away? Look at yourself. She'd be ashamed to see you like this, Peter."

He turned to her, eyes sunken, black and defeated. "She'd do the same if it were me."

Astrid shook her head, trying to control her growing frustration with him. "No, she wouldn't. Olivia would be out there fighting to bring justice, despite all the pain, all the sadness that surrounded it; she'd be out there fighting. _She'd_ be fighting for _you_." Peter gave no answer, just turned his head away further from her, hiding the hurt in his heart from her. Tears flooded his eyes again as he held back a sob.

Astrid stood; emotion betrayed her voice as she spoke sternly, and let a pitiful laugh escape her. "If you won't fight for her, Peter, _then I will_." Without another word she left him sitting in the warm sun, a broken man.

A lump rose in his throat as he turned to argue with her, but Astrid was gone, the door slamming shut behind her and made the glass shake. He turned back and curled into his chest, his eyes focusing back on the sun again, begging for an answer. He couldn't do this alone. Not without her. Letting his sorrow drown him again, slowly, Peter felt himself sinking lower and lower until once again, sleep overcame him, and the nightmares began.

* * *

><p><em>FBI Headquarters<br>12:00pm, December 2008_

"Do we have a name on the victim?" Olivia asked, her eyes scanning through what felt like the fiftieth case file that was possibly related to their murder victim, a woman found dead, beaten and horrifically chopped in the comforts of her own living room, a site that had made her new Agent's stomach turn. But true to fact, Olivia's prodigy had held her lunch, an impressive feat by any standards.

Charlie's pen zipped across the paper, scratching out another possibility on the motive. He sighed and threw the small oblong object down. "We don't have _anything_, Liv. The place was swept clean of fingerprints, hairs, even the carpets were intact. No prints on the doors, no motive, no murder weapon. No victim ID. No murderer. _Nothing._"

"I wouldn't be so sure about that, Agent Francis," Astrid said coming into Olivia's office with a hopeful smile on her face. "The autopsy report from Dr. Bishop just came in," she handed them both two copies and stood back slightly as they devoured the report, the muscles on their face giving away their surprise.

Olivia's head jerked up. "Her fingerprints were _removed_?" She looked towards Charlie.

"Well that would explain the inability to identify her body, if the good Doctor's results are accurate," he said, disbelief flooded his mind. "Liv, why don't you go talk to Peter, make sure his father's not going off the deep end," He paused. "Again. I'll start a search on any missing person's reports filed in the past month that meet the victim's description."

Olivia nodded in confirmation, grabbing her jacket and left with the report in hand, motioning for Astrid to follow. Minutes later found themselves in the SUV heading towards Harvard to speak with Walter. The car ride over was silent as both women processed the report, questions arising in their minds. Glancing over at her senior Agent, Astrid cleared her throat.

"So," she spoke slowly, almost unsure how to move forward, "What made you want to become an FBI Agent, Agent Dunham?"

"When I was nine, I decided on it," Olivia's voice had changed slightly, darker and deeper. "One of those life-changing moments and I knew what I wanted to do."

Astrid's curiosity got the best of her. "What moment was that?"

Olivia looked at her, and for the first time since Astrid met her, she saw a haunting hesitancy behind Olivia's eyes. The Agent gave no answer as they turned into the parking lot, and silently exited the vehicle. Instantly Astrid regretted asking the question, obviously touching a raw nerve that she noted to avoid from now on. Following Olivia's footsteps down the hall, they entered the lab to find Walter hunched over the body, and Peter's voice echoing from the computer. Hearing the doors open Walter turned, his eyes magnified by the ancient headpiece he wore, a smile on his face.

"Agent Dunham! Agent Figglesworth, so glad of you to join us!" he proclaimed as Peter rolled his eyes and groaned.

"That's _Farnsworth, _Walter. Farnsworth." He hollered above Walter's voice.

"As much as I love pronunciations, I feel that is not why you are here," Walter's smile dropped as read Olivia's no-nonsense expression like a book. "Questions on my report, I assume."

Hoping down the steps she nodded. "Walter, what do you mean her fingerprints were removed?" she gestured towards the report, her hands sinking to her hips, "How is that possible?"

Peter turned in his chair, peeking at her over his shoulder. "It's not."

Walter huffed at Peter as the wrinkles on his face subsided, his brows creasing together furiously. "Forgive me, Agent Dunham, but given our line of work it is highly probable."

"How?" was the simple question she asked.

He turned, hunched and moved back towards the body as Olivia glanced towards Peter, who simply shrugged as Walter continued, unimpressed by his father's argument. "Over the years, people have tried to defy science, defy the laws that bind us to the overwhelming forces of nature. Some tried to overrule time and failed, while others tried other earthly means, like gravity. The Wright Brothers, for instance, created a device that could soar through the air, thus bringing about the beginning of aviation. Others, for instance, evolution. The early development of humans on this planet has a vast degree of evolution, which also keys into Darwin's theory of human survival.

Peter hummed. "We get that, Walter, Darwin's statement of survival of the fittest. What does this have to do with the body?"

His eyes began to trail, staring off into the tall ceilings as his brain began to fire rapidly. "When one is at their last ends, the instinct for survival is at its greatest, doing whatever one needs to escape whatever fate has been presented. This, Agent Dunham, ties into that very idea. Whoever our friend is, she erased her fingerprints. I have heard of the procedure before, although not witnessed it myself."

Olivia leaned against the table curiously, her shoulder brushing up against Peter's. He glanced towards her, her face distant as she processed what Walter had said, the tangent he explained. "You said you've heard of it being done before, Walter. How could someone simply _remove_ their fingerprints?"

He delicately raised the hand of the dead woman. "Several," he croaked, his eyes examining her pale skin. "One method most commonly known is acid treatment of the fingertips, burning the ridges off the skin right down to the dermis. Initially not painful, but give it a minute or two and the nerves are reached. However this method proves to be a failure, due to the ridges growing back. Ask John Dillinger, he had this very problem."

"John… Dillinger?" Olivia asked curiously, glancing to Peter who returned another shrug.

Astrid piped up from behind the two, turning their heads. "I remember studying that case in school. Dillinger was a mobster back in the 1930's, during the Great Depression. He robbed banks all over the nation from Wisconsin, to Illinois, even made his way across to New York, they believed. A hard man to catch, even the FBI had a run for their money, so to speak. He escaped from prison, killed a few police officers, and eluded the law until he was shot and killed while going to the movies. It was a famous case. But most notably was his attempt to remove his fingerprints by acid."

"Indeed, he succeeded but the skin grew back and reformed his fingerprints; a well-conceived effort to evade authorities, but a failed effort nonetheless." Walter hummed, scanning the fingers with a magnifying glass.

Olivia crossed her arms over her chest, rubbing her thumb over her chin lost in thought. "Walter, do you suspect this is what she did? Treated herself with acid or someone else did?"

Mumbling aimlessly, Walter did not answer. Peter whirled around in his chair to face the computer. "I don't think she did," he typed furiously across the keyboard, popping up a picture as Astrid and Olivia moved to his sides. "Before he began dissecting her, or rather, finishing the project, we took a digital scan of her hand. Look here," he moved the mouse over an area of the woman's fingertips, "Acid erodes the skin, it'd leave scars where it touched it and possibly oblong marks, but upon examination, Walter didn't find any scaring that matched those of a chemical burn. But what he did find was interesting enough, look." Pulling up a cross section, he watched Olivia's eyes widen. Scar tissue circled the pads of the woman's fingers like ovals, and the cross section revealing more scar tissue underneath.

"It looks like the pads of her fingers were removed all the way to the bone," Olivia stated, taking in the pictures they showed. "And replaced. With what, though?"

"Skin grafts," Walter answered finally, holding up a different portion of her body. Several, dare he say, chunks were removed from her heels, "From the woman's soles of her feet. Thickened layers from there do not ridge like the fingers do, which would make fingerprints irrelevant."

Astrid piped up again, feeling braver with the question. "Why would someone want to erase their fingerprints? What are they running from?"

"Either running or hiding would be my guess." Peter said, glancing upward at Olivia. Nibbling on her bottom lip, she remained frozen, her mind processing. A few seconds later she signed as she removed her phone from her pocket and began dialing Charlie's number.

"Astrid, stay here and run a search for any plastic surgeons that may be doing this kind of surgery, skin grafts or hand transplants. Also run a search for any cases similar, where fingerprints were removed. Call me if you find anything." Astrid nodded and took her place at a computer as Peter stood and grabbed his coat, knowing what she was going to say, or not say, next.

"Where are we going, then?" he asked as he followed her out the door of the lab as she caught Charlie up on what Walter's theory was.

Olivia's pace was steady, her mind focused as she ended the conversation. "I want to find more information on this Dillinger guy. A bank robber who figured out how to temporary and successfully evade the police may have had some followers, and I want to know how, when and why. Maybe it'll give us a clue on who the victim was or what they were trying to do by erasing her fingerprints."

Stepping ahead of her he opened the door, a gentleman like gesture that made her grin slightly. "And where precisely are we going to find all this information? Obviously the computers aren't good enough for you." A high-pitched squeal signaled the doors to her SUV were unlocked. Entering the passenger side he still trained his gaze on her. Whatever was on Olivia's mind had plagued his.

"Nope," she said, sliding into the driver's seat. "We're doing this the old fashion way."

He raised an eyebrow, cocking his head towards her. "Which is?"

The car roared to life as she offered Peter another sideways grin, the one that always made Peter's heart melt. "Do you still have a library card, Peter?"

* * *

><p><em>Bishop house<br>9:00pm, June 2026_

The house really _was_ a mess and all Ella could do was shake her head and sigh as she entered past the front door, switching the paper bag to her other arm to close it. When Astrid had came into work that day after visiting Peter and giving her an update on his condition, Ella had to see it for herself and seeing Astrid's words were the truth, her heart sunk. Her Aunt was never a neat freak, but if Olivia could see the house now Ella knew she'd blow a gasket. It looked like a bomb went off, however she knew for Peter it certainly had.

"Peter?" she called, but received no answer, just heard a jostle in the kitchen and the closing of the refrigerator. Walking towards the solitary light she found him standing over the counter, shoulders hunched low and his shirt a mess, his eyes trained on the new bottle of vodka that he popped open. "Peter," she said, and slowly he turned around, his eyes scrunching as if trying to remember her name.

His face softened instantly. "Ella…" he stated, genuinely surprised to see her, his eyes opening wide. "Hey, what are you doing here?" She offered him her best smile and swallowed the lump in her throat, fighting back tears. She hadn't seen him since the funeral, and to see him in this shape made her heart hollow.

She shrugged innocently trying to hide the tide of emotion that began to rise. "I figured you could use some company. I brought Chinese food. It's Thursday." Thursdays were always Chinese night in the Bishop household, the night when Ella would join them and catch them up on what boy was or was not in the picture, or how her training was going, a night all three of them would look forward to. Especially Olivia.

Peter slowly smiled; a welcome relief for her to see and he nodded. "So it is." His voice was dark, rough, but strangely calm.

She placed the bags down on the counter as he watched her, his smile growing wider. Ella moved exactly like her Aunt- fierce, but with fascinating grace and elegance that was uniquely Olivia. Tears began to well once again in her eyes as she sucked in her bottom lip. Placing her hip against the counter Ella tried to avoid his eyes, the air thick and heavy with tension between them, the other trying to figure out what to say. She hid her emotions well, another trick she learned from Olivia. She drew in a shaky breath and turned back to meet his eyes as hers began to water, unable to mask it any longer. Taking a few small steps Ella, she walked into his open arms and hugged him tight, her arms locking around his waist as she began to cry quietly, swallowing hard against him.

The feeling of human contact seemed momentarily lost for Peter, but muscle memory was hard to forget. He wrapped his arms around her, holding Ella close as she became undone in his arms, the tight spring finally snapped from tension. Peter swallowed as he planted a small kiss on the top of her head, but his cheeks remained dry to his surprise. He wasn't the only one who still felt the burning, sting pain of Olivia's death and for a few days he had forgotten that. As Ella let herself go in his arms all he could do was rock gently back and forth and whisper sweet sighs into her ear. Her body shuddered as she fought to quiet the sobs that fought to escape from her throat.

"I'm sorry, Ella, for not being there when you needed me this past month," Peter said, finally letting the other burden lift from his heart, "When you needed a shoulder to cry on. I should have been, and I know that's what Olivia would have wanted. I… just got so caught up in her that I forgot there were others who loved her just as much as I do. It was selfish, and for that I'm so sorry."

She sniffed, burying her cheeks into his chest. "I miss her," she spoke through gritted teeth, squeezing Peter harder. "_So much_. It hurts, and it doesn't get better."

He sighed, the quiver in his voice matching hers. "I know, baby girl. It won't be better for a while. I loved her as much as you do, and miss her just as equally. I've tried to reason with why it had to be her that was taken and yet I find no answer, other than to just tear everything apart."

She glanced up at him, eyes red and glistening, "Walternate, your father, is tearing everything apart, Peter," she muttered, "You're letting him win by letting him continue with his horrific rampage. We need to _stop_ him." The pleading in her voice was enough to make Peter's icy heart melt. "Please don't let Aunt Liv's death be in vain. Don't let Walternate think he can tear us apart, that he can tear you down. I can't lose you too, Uncle Pete; you're the only family I have left."

Peter slowly turned his head to the side as if he'd been slapped several times through; a surprised look crossed his face as if he had been dunked in a barrel of ice. A small smile graced his cheeks again, examining her in a whole new light. Gently he placed a lost strand of hair behind her ear. "You haven't called me Uncle Pete since you were fourteen."

She licked her lips and shrugged. "Old habits die hard, I guess." She swallowed, sighing heavily as she searched his eyes for any clues to his expression. Without another word she left his arms, wiped her eyes and began opening the bag containing dinner. Spreading out across the island Peter felt his stomach rumble for the first time in days, his desire for the vodka suddenly gone as he spooned the pork fried rice as chicken onto a plate, devouring the savory food happily. They spoke in intervals, Ella bringing Peter up to speed on her assignments and her most recent beau named Nathan.

For nearly the two hours Ella was there Peter felt almost normal again, listening to Ella speak, to see her laugh and smile and express herself was something Peter had missed, and in every movement, every word he saw Olivia. The hand gestures, the way she'd crease her brows and sigh was all her Aunt, a beautiful display that had unlocked a cage that he worked himself into and for the first time in weeks, he laughed. His tear ducts dried as he continued to listen to her, to watch Ella in her own skin had jump started Peter back to life.

Around midnight was when they began to clean up and Ella made her way towards the door, Peter following her out. Drawing in a deep breath opened the door. "Thank you, Ella," he said, hugging his niece tightly. "For everything." She nodded. In the moonlight he caught site of her shy smile. In her, he saw Olivia's eyes once again. "I promise you, Ella, we'll find Walternate." He evened his gaze with hers, "With all my heart and soul, we'll find him and make him pay. Olivia's death won't be in vain and that is a promise I'll be keeping."

Ella nodded, whispering quietly. "I know you will." Reaching into her jacket she pulled out an envelope. "I found this in one of Aunt Liv's sketch pads a few weeks ago," she handed him the letter, "I think this was meant for you."

His brows scrunched together as he took the faded envelope from her. Hugging her once again Ella departed and headed back to her apartment. Slowly Peter closed the door behind her and made his way upstairs and into the bedroom, a task he hadn't done in weeks. Entering the dimly lit room, it felt foreign to him. The sheets hadn't been touched since the day she was killed, the imprint on her pillow still formed, the sheets still creased. For the fourth time that evening Peter smiled as he crawled up onto his side of the bed, gently pulling one of her pillows towards him, breathing deeply. The still smelled of her shampoo, a cool ocean breeze that made his heart pick up speed. On the front of the envelope his name was written in the familiar curves that was her handwriting, the slight slant to the right; the bellowed curve of the 'P', the scribbles that created the 'e', a trail of pen marks across the top as she crossed the 't' and the way she let the pen trail after the 'r' was just as he remembered it to be. She had her own way of writing his name that made him feel unique.

Turning it around he was just seconds shy of ripping it open but stopped as the sight of four single words written on the flap caught his attention, a single sentence that had been a phrase often used between the two of them when they had just met, before the days when everything went to hell.

_You're gonna be fine._

Drawing in a deep breath Peter closed his eyes, and opened the letter, feeling it unfold before him. One by one he opened his eyes, curled her pillow in his arms and began to read...

* * *

><p><em>Reviews welcome as always!<br>_


	3. Revelations

**Author's Notes:** I do humbly apologize for keeping my wonderful readers at bay! I've been reviewing for a licensing exam and the review course, and that took up all my time the past month and a half on top of having minor surgery, these past two months have been a mess! But fear not, updates coming!

For anyone reading "Crash into You" (and for whoever isn't, I assure you it'll be worth your while!) expect updates to come next week!

To ease the angst and sore heart strings from the first two chapters, we'll be staying in the past for the next few chapters. Have no fear, you'll find out what the letter said soon enough!

Reviews always welcome! Onward!

**Revelations**

_Harvard Lab  
>2:30pm, December 2008<em>

"My guess," Walter said to no one in particular, his eyes magnified by the small piece of glass he held to the second severed, decaying body, hunched over and exploring it with a new found curiosity, "Would be some sort of hack saw, or quite possibly a chain saw for these limbs." He shifted to towards the amputation with glee. "Look here. See how the ridges form in the muscle and the bone? It's striated, uneven and ridged; detailing some mechanical force was used to cut through the body. The thigh, this cut is even, no lines or jagged marks. When this limb was severed it took just one swift drop of the hammer to slice through, much like the meat slicer at a deli. Quick, smooth and fluent. Beautiful work on both if I must say so myself."

From across the room Peter stopped biting into the roast beef sandwich he had bought from the deli down the street, his teeth sinking into the meat just as Walter finished his sentence. His mouth went dry as he spit the mouthful of mangled meat. "Thank you, Walter. That's a great image for lunch time. I'm pretty sure I've lost my appetite. _Again_." He swallowed the tasteless, dry lump and placed the sandwich down on the tinfoil next to him.

Sitting at the table across from him Olivia flashed her green eyes at him over the rim of her glasses, her gaze jumping to his abandoned sandwich to him. "Better your appetite than your stomach contents."

Crinkling up the wrapping he tossed the remaining half of the sandwich in the trash. "With everything that we've seen in the past few months, I'm pretty sure my stomach is the _least_ of our worries. Although if Walter keeps up these charades," he peered over his shoulder to the section of arm Walter lifted, examining it closer in the light, "We may have to pick another place to eat lunch. I've seen some pretty gruesome things in my life, but this may take the cake. He yelled at me the other day for eating a cheeseburger in front of the cow."

"And I'm sure if Gene saw you eating another human being she's be offended as well!" Walter challenged heatedly, earning a small chuckle from Olivia and making Peter roll his eyes.

She spread her notes across the table, including the newly found identification of their victim. A missing persons report had lead them in the right direction to identifying the body of thirty-three year old Natalie Bermudez, an elementary teacher who failed to show for school last week and reported missing by her husband the day after her disappearance. Between the body identification and dental records, they finally had something to work off of. It may not have been much, but it was a start. Her and Peter had separated the work of sorting through her medical records, and military records, Olivia taking the latter while Charlie was on another investigation.

"From what her doctors say, Bermudez was healthy as a horse. Not even a bat of high cholesterol to justify cutting back on the fried foods," he said, closing the file and letting it fall into the table. "Her record with the school never had a bad thing to say about her either. The students and class moms loved her. Kind, sweet, and well-liked amongst her peers, the woman didn't even have a pink slip."

"Experience with those, Peter?" she teased, smirking at him from above the rim of her glasses.

Peter grinned, shaking his head slowly. "You have _no_ idea. I honestly hated school. The teachers were morons; the kids were dumber than dirt. I hated it because I was constantly bored. I never studied for exams, stayed up drinking coke, eating Doritos and Skittles when I did papers. Everything seemed too easy."

"Well with an IQ of one-ninety I'd hope so, cause if not I'm sure that genius brain of yours would have began to die off." She chuckled and Peter laughed as her eyes averted back to the page, her smile suddenly fading as quickly as it came. "That's interesting," Olivia muttered as her gaze averting over his shoulder in thought. Flipping another page over on her brief she hummed to herself. "Natalie Bermudez served in the Air Force for seven years, and was honorably discharged after a project she was assigned to shut down_, _called _Full Moon Howl_."

Peter scrunched his brows together, placing his hands under his chin as he watched her speak. "Sounds like a bad Samurai movie. Did they say who the mission head was, what division was running it?"

She shook her head. "No, just that it was a joint military project and after a few years was shut down for an unknown reason. The mission files are classified above top secret," she sighed. "Meaning we have no shot at seeing them." Again, her face went blank, the classic pondering expression that fell across her cheeks. "John has an old friend who worked in the records department of the Air Force. I could probably ask him to see if he can pull any strings."

Peter shrugged. "Couldn't hurt to ask. What's the worst they're going to say, no?"

She mimicked his questionable shrug nonchalantly. "I suppose so."

"Agent Dunham, Peter," Walter called suddenly, "come here, quickly. There is something you need to see." Glancing at one another again, they stood in unison and trekked down the stairs. "Just behind her left ear, there appears to be some sort of marking. Blue and linear, it almost resembles a tattoo of some sort, perhaps a bear or a dog."

Olivia raised an eyebrow. "Or a wolf."

Peter crossed his arms, "Odd place for a tattoo don't you think?"

She nodded, stood and made her way towards where the files lay scattered on the table. "I'm going to head down to the federal building and see what I can find on this military project, maybe talk to John about getting a contact in the records hall."

"What some company?" Peter's eyes lit up hopefully.

As always, Olivia denied him. Peter didn't have to ask to know who was on the other end of the phone. "No, its okay, I'll be at the Federal building if you need me." In three long strides she was out the door, leaving Peter standing alone next to the table. He sighed as Walter came up behind him slowly. He had seen the somewhat defeated expression on his son's face to know there was something else on Peter's mind rather than the case.

"Don't be dismayed, Peter. Distance always makes the heart grow fonder." Walter grinned, earning a sideways glance from his son.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Walter," Peter said slowly as he hid his eyes from Walter. His father may have been on the brink of insanity, but he was sane enough to see right through Peter and his defenses.

Walter couldn't help but let a small smile slip past his lips. He could see the shine in Peter's eyes when the young Agent was around and the hidden skipping of his son's heart. But keeping his information to himself Walter turned back to his body and continued his autopsy, leaving Peter to work silently once again.

* * *

><p><em>FBI Headquarters<em>

Olivia sat quietly outside the meeting room, watching through the small sliver of glass as John Scott made his presentation to his team about the case he was currently working; his broad shoulders and bright blue eyes outlined the white screen beautifully making Olivia smile slightly. The pride and self-confidence in his carriage made her slightly jealous she wasn't more out in the open with her self-presentation. She didn't question her own judgment. She was a good Agent, that she knew, but there were those days that made her question everything. Even her sanity on some occasions.

She had always hated asking for favors; the fear of judgment she felt from it was high. Working in a man's profession had its leaps and tries, and this was one of them. An inability to solve a case and ask for help she had always thought as weak, and unwilling. But this one case had thrown her for a loop, and any help she could obtain in accessing the information she needed… Olivia was willing to take that step to seek it. Even if it meant her own integrity was being hurt, perhaps more her ego.

The doors jarred open as the people inside began to file out, mumbling to one another aimlessly in small words she could not hear. The last person to leave followed John's trail. She stood, crossed her hands over her body and sighed.

"Excuse me, Agent Scott," she said in a professional tone as John emerged, his eyes snapped towards her, surprised to see Olivia seeking him out. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I need to speak with you, it's important."

John nodded, excused himself from his present company and made his way up the two floors to his office. Once inside he closed the wooden door and sat down stiffly in his chair, the business-like attitude he portrayed was in full swing. "What can I do for you, Liv?"

She opened her eyes and sighed. "I need to ask you a favor, John, and it's not something I'm too comfortable with." His grin grew deeper at the seriousness of her tone. "I'm working a case, and the victim was an Air Force Sergeant who was part of a classified joint military project. I don't have clearance to access the file, to research the project and was wondering-"

"If I can get you the file, or a name of someone to contact," he finished with a sigh, leaning back in his chair as she crossed her arms. "Liv, I thought we both agreed we'd keep a distance from that."

"I know," she said. "But I wouldn't be asking if this wasn't important, John. Please, anything you can do, any name I'd be grateful. I just need five minutes alone with that file."

He sat down slowly, leaning his elbows against the desk. "I'll see what I can do, no guarantees." John spoke slowly, avoiding her gaze.

Olivia smiled, rounded the corner of his desk and gave him a small kiss, "Thank you, I owe you." Her smile disappeared at the stiffness of his upper lip and the lack of reception he gave her. Even his eyes seemed distant, looking past her, the weight of heavy stones settling past his eyes. "Is everything okay, John? You look distracted."

"Yea," he breathed, "Everything's fine. I have work to do, I'll see you later." He turned away from her, leaving Olivia nothing short of perplexed as she bit her bottom lip and exited the door slowly, leaving John's back to hers. Had she done the wrong thing by asking for his help? Shaking her head Olivia made her way outside and headed back towards the lab.

Behind his door, John let out a heavy breath that he had been holding. He hated pushing her off like that, sending Olivia away without even an acknowledgement of her presence. Rubbing his fingers through his hair he sighed, his mind racing. Glancing at his door once again, he slowly reached into a bottom drawer and pulled out an envelope, heavy and cracked and placed it in front of him, opening it slowly.

The browned paper he held tight became moist in his warm palms as he reread it again, each lined memorized by heart. Having to break the news to Olivia would be hard. Telling her he had anticipated it would be even harder. He hated lying to her. They had built a relationship over the past year and a half on trust, lust and Chinese food. It wasn't easy, but they had done it, and managed to keep it a secret on top of that. That, he reminisced, was probably the hardest part. They both worked for the federal government.

In this business, there were no secrets. Only lies and evil deceptions.

He reread the letter in his hands, shaking his head in disbelief. At first he debated not even mentioning it to her, but Olivia was smarter than she gave herself credit for, she'd find out what was going on, that he was hiding something from her and either be royally pissed or extremely supportive, two severe outcomes he couldn't predict her choosing.

What worried John the most was the increase in lies that were going to soon develop from it. The deceptions, the secrets, even the possible heartbreak. He knew of her past, the harrowing childhood journey that had taken her years and years to overcome. It even took almost a year of them dating to finally gain Olivia's trust, and now that he had it, he couldn't risk it. Not over something like _this_.

Sighing he folded the paper along its worn creases and slipped it gently into his jacket pocket. Tonight, he decided, he'd tell her.

It had to be tonight. Come hell or high water, _it had to be tonight_.

* * *

><p><em>Brighton, MA.<br>11:00pm_

Olivia sighed, frustrated as she nearly threw the plate she had been washing into the drying rack and tossed the towel over the faucet to dry. It was the third time this week John had been a no show for their impromptu dinners. Something had been off between them for the past week or two, whatever it was Olivia just couldn't put her finger on it. He would be withdrawn; he wouldn't acknowledge her in the halls, hell he couldn't even send her a courtesy text to say that he would _yet again_ not be there for dinner. She had made his favorite nonetheless, to try and cheer him up but after waiting for him for nearly two hours she had ate her fill and packed everything up.

As annoyed as she was, she knew sleep wouldn't come easily. Instead of curling into bed and relaxing, Olivia found herself dawning a pair of jeans, a black long sleeve shirt and a jacket, her hair falling down steadily over her shoulders and her gun hidden beneath her jacket. It was only eleven at night, she decided, and a little escape was always good to get the mind to relax. There was a bar a few blocks from her apartment, a local favorite of hers.

A light knock came to her front door as she threw her jacket around her shoulders, "You've got to be kidding me," she mumbled and made her way towards the front door. Checking the peep hole she rolled her eyes and threw the door open to see John leaning against her door frame, a solitary look in his eyes and a small envelope clutched against his palms. She gripped the door tightly, debating whether or not to slam it in his face.

"Liv, I'm sorry," he began, but she cut him off. "I need to explain-"

"Save it, John, I'm not in the mood," she nearly spat, slipping past him and locking her door. "I don't know what has been crawling up your spine these past few days, but I'm sick of it. I'm going out. If you want to talk, we can do it tomorrow." Avoiding his eyes she turned down the hallway.

"There won't be any time tomorrow." He said slowly.

She kept walking. "Well, time hasn't seemed to be of concern for you lately-"

"_Olivia._"

It was something in the way he said her name that made Olivia stop dead in her tracks. Maybe it was the fact John hardly _ever_ used her full name. Ever. Not unless it was something serious. As she turned around and saw the stone-faced gaze he gave her, she drew in a slow breath. It was in his eyes that she saw the hidden fear and anxiety that resonated through him, and her curiosity spiked. The anger she had felt towards him had left, replaced with a general concern. She had never seen him this… almost frightened, if she had to choose a word.

"John," she spoke calmer, talking small steps towards him, "What's been up with you? You can tell me. Please, John, tell me."

He drew in a deep breath and sighed, pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to her, allowing Olivia to read it as he leaned against her door frame again, her bottom lip quivering. Slowly she lowered the paper and gazed into his troubled blue eyes.

"They're serious," she mumbled, "They _can't _be serious."

John nodded, sighing. "They are. Wednesday morning, zero six hundred I report. I've been called for active duty; they're reopening a mission I worked while I was serving."

"You've been out of the Marines for what, almost ten years? How can they just… call you back up for duty? You've done your time."

"You know as well as I do the consequences for disobeying a direct order, especially in a case like this."

She placed her hands on her hips, "Is this what you didn't want to tell me about? Why you've been practically ignoring me these past few days?" He nodded.

"Liv, listen to me-"

She threw her hands up defensively, and he could see the pain in her eyes. "I can't talk about this, John, not now." Pushing the paper back into his hands he watched her turn and leave John standing alone in the hallway, two simple words fell from his lips.

"_I'm sorry…" _

* * *

><p><em>Harvard Lab<br>11:00pm_

Closing down the lights of the lab, Peter exited the old wooden doors slowly and locked them, the ancient tumbler clicked into place. Giving the doors a gently pull, he nodded approvingly and headed out to where Walter's station wagon sat silently in the frigid winter night. The heat had been on the fritz these past few days and he only prayed on the night that it was hovering just in the teens that the old heater would work. If not, Peter was certain he would freeze to death before he could get home.

"_Peter_," came the monotonous voice behind him, making Peter turn around in haste. Standing behind him was the Observer, his face a dimly lit white from the cast of the moon and his eyes blank and black. "We have another journey to make, please, follow me."

Peter groaned. "Do we _really_ have to do this now? Its twelve degrees and I'm freezing."

The man stood still. "No. It cannot. Follow me." Turning sharply to the right, Peter rolled his eyes and took a step forward…

… and walked face first into a tree. Cursing loudly he rubbed his throbbing cheek and nose angrily, cursing at the Observer who stood next to him silently, his eyes gazing through the wooded area they stood in. As always, the Observer said nothing, simply glanced at Peter and averted his gaze to an area just beyond the trees.

"You know, a little warning would have been nice," he grumbled. As always the Observer remained stone-like. Looking around, Peter surveyed the scene.

It was lighter, maybe around five or six in the evening, Peter guessed, and still cold as hell. Trees towered all around them, bare and stripped from the winter wind. A light gray haze settled across the air as the clouds sat stagnant above them. The wind nipped at his exposed nose and cheeks as the leaves swirled silently around them, dancing in the orchestration. He followed the Observers eyes to a clearing just beyond where they stood.

"Peter," the Observer finally spoke, a solemn echo rang through Peter's head, "I want you to close your eyes. Breathe in this atmosphere. Tell me what you feel. Tell me what emotions overcome you." Peter eyed this strange man, but the seriousness in his eyes was enough to make Peter obey.

Placing his hands at his side Peter did as he was told, closed his eyes and drew in a slow, deep and even breath as his senses drew every detail out of the bitter cold atmosphere. The first thing Peter felt was a sting of the winter wind as it skated past his cheeks and nose, microscopically scratching his skin, making it raw and hard. As he breathed he felt the cold air invade his lungs, and grasp his heart in a painful lock as he tried to shake the uncomfortable feeling from his chest, but no matter how many warm thoughts came to mind, his task could not be diverted.

A sudden heaviness began to form around him, locking Peter in a pocket of not only cold, but a forgotten emotion that brought a different pain to his chest. Not just a physical coldness, but it was… _something else. _It was heavier and eerie. If he had to guess, the word _death_ would certainly come to mind. The air tasted stale, the wind uninviting and the ground under his body suddenly felt like cement, his muscles becoming tired and stiff as he stood and took in the scene around him. Suddenly that's when it hit him. He knew this place. Peter _knew_ this place.

"This isn't just a forest," he said slowly, opening his eyes, turning to where the Observer stood next to him, and watched. Taking a few small steps towards the edge of the clearing he made his way to one corner of the clearing in particular, a place he had long forgotten since Walter had been put away in St. Claire's. A singular tear came to his cheeks as he came upon the small gray rock, the words barely visible, etched away over the years. Slowly Peter fell to his knees. _How_ could he have forgotten?

_Elizabeth Bishop  
>Loving wife and mother<em>

It wasn't just a forest they were standing in.

It was a graveyard.

"Why here?" he whispered, but the Observer gave no answer, just turned his eyes towards a single figure that sat behind Peter.

Over his shoulder Peter heard a single, quiet sob as he turned to find he wasn't alone. Fifty or so feet from where he knelt a body lay rounded on the ground, the man's forehead pressed against the cold rock. Peter stood slowly and remained still. All around him he felt the air become heavier, a blanket of sorrow and death nestled around him, tucking against Peter tightly and made his freeze where he stood, his eyes trained on the back of a hunched figure that knelt, almost praying. This man Peter watched, this older, salt and peppered, fatigued, mourning man made Peter's heart seize in his chest.

This poor soul, a broken, kneeling man held his head against the stone, his fingers grasping the cement as if he were holding on for dear life in the drowning pool of death he sat submerged in. Floating on the ground next to him was a bouquet of flowers, crumbled and browned, dead like the ground around him. His back was rounded and hunched, moving slowly up and down as he sobbed, almost breaking at the seams as this man cried, mourned for the loss of whoever was at rest below him.

"This is the same man I showed you earlier." The Observer spoke slowly. "The woman he is mourning is his wife. This is important for you to witness, Peter."

Peter's eyes sat trained to the stone. "Why?" he whispered into the wind. He turned his head back to the Observer as his man stood slowly, kissed the top of the grave and left. Peter never saw his face. "Who was she?"

"When she calls, go to her, Peter," the Observer said, turning his head towards Peter. "Do not push her away. Only you can save her."

He swallowed hard and took a step forward, checking for any signs of the man he had witnessed standing here. Leaves cracked and crunched beneath his heels as he cautiously made his way towards the abandoned grave and knelt down next to it. A layer of grime and dirt covered the name. Wiping away the layer of filth he felt his heart catch in his chest and a sickening realization sunk into his stomach.

_Olivia Dunham  
>October 21, 1980-May 6, 2026<br>Beloved wife and Aunt  
>Always in our hearts<em>

He snapped his head back towards the clearing where the Observer stood but once again found himself kneeling alone in front of the grave that read Olivia's name across it. Slowly he traced her name as tears began to rise in his eyes. "Liv," he whispered, "How did this happen?"

The only answer he received was the tick of leaves against the ground and the gentle whisper of the winter wind…

* * *

><p><em>I hope you enjoyed that last chapter; I wasn't too crazy about it. Let me know! Thanks for bearing with me, you guys are great!<em>

_Updates soon!_


	4. Strong Enough

**Strong Enough**

_Harvard University  
>07:00am<em>

There was something unusually _off _this morning. Whatever it was, Peter couldn't put his finger on it, but the moment he opened his eyes he knew it was going to be simply one of _those _days. The headache that had pulled him out of his sleep was his first indicator. He felt like he downed a bottle of tequila the night before, the unforgiving liquid that put him into an uneasy sleep. The second was the queasiness he felt in his stomach as he walked through the quiet courtyard of the University and made his way towards the lab. He couldn't say what, something felt awkward. It crept underneath his skin, goose bumps rising as he shuttered against the cold winter air.

Maybe, he mused, was because of the dusky, gray clouds that had settled overhead and blocked the usual bright December sun. Instead of colors, all he saw was a gray scale of blacks, whites and everything in between. All around him seemed leeched of color, except the gray stone of the buildings and the thin layer of snow on the ground. Everything else was black, drained and completely lifeless, except for the crow that cawed overhead. Considering the time, any decent college student was asleep until the last very minutes.

Still, it felt… simply _off. _

Pulling open the doors he slipped back them and into the calm atmosphere of the main floor, towering pillars and tall ceilings greeted him with the echo of his own footsteps, quiet against the unusually empty halls. It had was strange to see the corridors so still, slightly darkened and minimal sunlight poking through the stain glass windows. Gliding around the stairwell he came to the doors and went through the normal motions, only to find the latch undone.

Someone had already entered, setting Peter's awareness level on high alert. Where the hell was Olivia with her gun when he needed it?

Slowly he opened the door, precaution at his fingers, and walked through, scanning the area within his vision for any tale of the invaders. Careful not to spill the precious contents of the coffee holder in his hand, his ears buzzed with silence as he strained to hear the tiniest of sound. His patience paid off in the sound of heel clicks as he turned around quicker than he intended and ran straight into someone unexpected.

"Peter!" exclaimed Olivia as they collided, his coffee spilling down her white shirt. "Shit," she muttered, staring at her stained button-up and coffee drenched papers and rolled her eyes. "What the hell are you doing here?"

He froze, taken aback by her statement, "I work here. What are _you _doing here this early? You're never here before ten." Immediately he slapped himself, hearing the defensiveness in his voice that was more out of surprise than annoyance.

Olivia sighed as she walked past him, the heel of her boot digging harder into the pavement as she whirled around a corner with Peter in tow. "_I _was here to follow up on a potential lead. Charlie called me this morning and faxed over something but it turned out to be useless." The cadence she spoke with, tough, broken and lined with aggravation, had confirmed Peter's suspicious.

Olivia was already in a bad room it seemed. This was _definitely _going to be a bad day.

Coming up behind her he leaned against the door frame. Before he could speak, he watched with a profound curiosity as Olivia swiftly unbuttoned her dirtied shirt, leaving her standing before him in nothing but a nude-colored bra and her pants. What caught his attention wasn't the fact she was half-naked in front of him, but the way her hands shook as she did it, an uncommon tremor he wasn't used to seeing. Being the gentleman he was, he averted his gaze to the wall behind him.

"To make matters worse," she said as she tossed the stained shirt aside and reached quickly for the spare draped over her chair, "We've got another body."

He pretended to look away as she pulled her hair from her collar and re-buttoned it. "Fantastic," he muttered and bowed his head. "On a more positive note, coffee?" he pointed towards the other room, making Olivia press her lips together and nod once. She followed his lead into the break room and leaned on the wall as he prepared a pot.

"Is Walter coming?" she asked, quieter and lower than before.

Peter nodded. "Walter should be here soon with Astrid. They go out for breakfast on Wednesdays. It's kind of nice, actually, not having to worry about getting him out on time." The water boiled as they came to silence again, examining her face once again, another alarm sounding as he squinted. "Hey, you okay?"

What had prompted his question were the paleness to her cheeks and the glassy appearance to her eyes, those deep emerald pools were shallow and thin. Even through the thin layers of make-up she wore, he could see right through her cosmetic mask. Looking more carefully, the white of her eyes was replaced by a flat, rosy pink and her lips dry. She pressed her lips together tighter, feeling his gaze on them. It was a tell tale sign he picked up that something was bothering her. Slowly Olivia crossed her arms and stared at the wall.

"Yea," she said flatly, avoiding his gaze, "I… just didn't sleep well last night."

Peter grinned. "John wasn't home to play teddy bear last night?"

She shook her head and answered quietly, the words betrayed in a whisper. "It's a little more complicated than that, Peter." his tongue he kicked himself for that comment. Again, she fell silent and making Peter's interest raise higher. He kept his gaze on her hoping she would spill whatever had tied her tongue into a thick knot.

Before he could ask the pot sounded with a high chime, bringing both of them back to earth. Peter filled her cup first and threw in a teaspoon of sugar, stirred and handed it to her with a smile. She nodded in thanks and left as she headed back to her office for a little peace and quiet before Walter and Astrid would arrive and begin their preparations to head out for their next body.

Peter, however, was determined; perhaps more than he should be. Walking into her office yet again he found her sitting still with her head in her hands, a deep sigh escaping her chest. Moving around the back he placed his cup next to hers and kneeled, placing his hand on her back, a friendly gesture of support. The pen she held darted from her fingers into the paper, sticking to it like concrete.

"Look, Olivia, if you want to talk about it, I'm all ears. If not, that's fine too. But if you need me, for anything, I'm here."

Twisting her head towards him, he gave her his best smile. Her answer was a simple microscopic smile back and a faint sparkle in her eyes. Keeping her chin in her palm she peered at him over the rim of her glasses. A loud _bang! _Outside her office signified Walter and Astrid's arrival as Peter heard his father bellow something, making Peter press his forehead against Olivia's shoulder as she chuckled lightly at the groan in his throat. It _was _a tender moment.

"You'd better get out there before he wakes the world looking for you," Olivia said, moving away from his hands.

"Wouldn't that be a pity?" He stood and bellowed out to Walter despite his growing headache, making Olivia's small smile grow wider in the curtain of her hair. Some things really didn't change.

Beside Olivia her phone began to ring, humming and buzzing across the surface of her desk. _John _blinked across the screen in bright white letters. It was too early to talk about the bombshell he dropped; what he kept hidden for her since they started dating. Biting her lip she hit the ignore button and shoved it in her pocket, immediately sending it to voice mail. Her and Peter were having a discussion. She had a scene to investigate. Any excuse she could come up with to ignore his calls she would write in her head.

Ignoring the stacked voice mails she had Olivia stood and secured her gun to her belt and exited, watching Peter, Walter and Astrid gather their things and head out the door, leaving her once again in a momentary second of silence, and utterly alone.

* * *

><p><em>Cape May, MA<br>9:30am_

Camera flashes flickered all around him as Charlie Francis hunched low in the small motor home as the frigid winter wind iced him in his spot. He felt compacted, a sardine in a can of filth and grime, and with another disgusting crime scene to investigate. The stench of sour milk, mold and decaying human flesh assaulted his nose and stabbed at his stomach as he surveyed the scene, forensics entering and exciting past him with the same sick face, begging for fresh air. Even the handkerchief he doused with mint oil wasn't enough to stop the putrid smell of rotting flesh. He was just thankful it wasn't summer when the body was discovered. Still, he knew he was going to have to burn this outfit. Nothing could kill the rancid odor that was stagnant despite the whistling wind blowing through broken window.

"I swore off roast beef after the first one," Charlie said as Olivia and Peter entered, "I think salami may be on the list too." He handed Peter another scarf and immediately passed it to Olivia. Lavender was more appropriate for her, he decided. Besides, whatever Walter had eaten the night before still scarred his nose. A dead body was nothing to the fumes Walter had created.

"Same mechanisms as before." Charlie continued, "The body was found by the mailman who stated he smelt a 'disturbing odor' and saw the glass. Local PD found him," he pointed to the dismembered body that lay where the bed should have been.

Clearing the room of some personnel, Astrid stepped forward and swallowed a disgusting lump arising in her stomach as she caught sight of the blocks of human remains. Maggots, flies and whatever other scavenger-like creature known to walk the earth crawled on its host in a stomach-churning feast. Swallowing a lump of dry air, she spoke. "Do we have a motive yet, based on the first victim?" breathing through her mouth, doing anything to suppress the gag in her throat.

Charlie shook his head. "Not that we know of."

Behind him, Walter reached into his bag and grabbed the thermometer. He positioned the tip at the torso, pushing it slowly into the liver. Astrid licked her lips and turned away as the skin fell apart beneath the tip and sloughed off, almost melted. Walter huffed as he removed it, tossing it aside. "Temperature at this point is irrelevant, however, judging by the amount of decay and weather conditions, I'd say this man was dead for about three weeks, maybe closer to four. The freezing temperatures at night may have delayed some of the cellular decay."

"Four weeks?" Olivia asked, immersing herself into the case, turning curiously to Charlie. "That puts his time of death _before_ the first victim." She glanced towards Astrid.

The young Agent nodded in confirmation. "I'll have the local PD to go through their missing records over the past month or so looking for any persons that resemble our victim as well as a call to the last known owner and landlord to see if they can tell us to last either lived here or give us someone to contact." She placed her hand on her hip and inhaled into her scarf.

Olivia's face twisted, trying to savor the last scent of the lavender oil. "Any hits on fingerprints?"

Again, Charlie spoke. "We found a similar aspect in the first murder other than method. This victim's prints were also removed."

Olivia sighed. "The first was a school teacher, the second a homeless man in a tetanus ridden trailer in the middle of a not-so-nice area of the Cape. What's the connection?"

Astrid interjected, shrugging. "Perhaps the killer is looking for polar opposites. One high class and one low class victim."

Olivia chewed her bottom lip. "Possibly. There's something off, something missing from this whole ordeal."

"This is a murder, Liv; we're almost _always _missing something." Charlie grinned, making Olivia's microscopic smile show for a bright, shining second.

A thick, spongy _crack_ broke through her thoughts as Walter plunged another thermometer into the victim's head for another temperature, causing them to jolt away in disgust. Peter complained as Olivia and Charlie turned, and Astrid ran for the door, her hand over her mouth. As Walter removed the thermometer, something caught his eye. "Agent Dunham, you may want to take a look at this." Pulling back the ear lobe of the head, she crouched curiously, her eyes averting to the grime covered walls.

"Another tattoo," her eyes widened, turning to Charlie and Peter. "The first victim had the same marking. Agent Farnsworth," she called, bringing Astrid back into the small room, "Cross reference any markings on the body with the previous one we found, as well as any places within the tri-state area that offer this kind of tattoo." Olivia said slowly, her focus concentrating on the small marking on the victim's ear lobe. "Maybe there are a few tattoo parlors that can give us any information on who had bought something like this." Astrid nodded and dialed her phone to their contacts at headquarters and activated Olivia's request.

For almost another two hours they interviewed and collected any evidence that was thought relevant. A drawn out and daunting task that, by the time noon came around, Peter found himself exhausted and begging for another cup of coffee. His wish was granted when a break finally came, enabling him to escape a few blocks down the road and grab a few cups. Upon returning and dishing out the piping liquid, taking one sip he felt his throat begin to defrost, his chest warming. As Charlie and Astrid discussed the case, going over this particular scene, he noticed one body from the trio was missing.

A trail of size eight footsteps lead away from the crime scene and down the sidewalk towards the empty boardwalk. Squinting into the wind he caught site of Olivia's black coat standing on the beach, her head and shoulders low and defeated. Turning against the wind Peter made his way towards her, coveting her cup in his hands. Sand cracked like glass against his feet as he called her name, making Olivia turn her head behind her as she jumped slightly.

Peter chuckled, handing her the cup. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

She forced a half-mouthed smile. "At least this time you didn't spill it." She sipped the warm liquid and clutched it tight, drawing as much heat from it as she could. Even here, burrowing into her coat, Peter could see the porcelain paleness in her cheeks despite the windburn red that spread across them, the bags underneath her eyes and the tiredness in them had grown over the past few hours.

"Normally under these circumstances, one could assume you were either hung over or high as a kite, but I don't think that's the case here. Olivia, you look like hell." He turned to her, his elbow leaning on the railing as he leaned in towards her. "You're not your normal chipper self around a crime scene. Not getting bored with all this craziness are we?"

With that she let out a laugh unintentionally, and shook her head, laughing again as the thought came into her head. "No. It's just… personal stuff," she shrugged as her smile disappeared with the wind, her lips sealing around the cup. "Just one of those days, I guess."

"I had the same feeling this morning," he said. "Just another day in paradise."

Olivia nodded once. "If paradise is what you want to call it, sure, I'm fine with that."

Fine, Peter knew, was an over-used term in her word bank. "Hey, humor me. We can't all be as tough as you, _Agent _Dunham. If we were, this job wouldn't be as fun." He raised an eyebrow and smiled as he earned yet another chuckle from Olivia as he nudged her. "Besides, I like it when we argue. I don't have that challenge with Walter."

Olivia laughed aloud. "You mean you two science guys don't get into astronomical arguments?" He gave her a sideways grin. "No pun intended."

"No. He's repetitive and stubborn as a horse. Besides, you're much better looking when you get angry." Peter's heart fluttered at seeing that continuous smile on her face. "Whatever it is, Liv, you're gonna be fine."

"I know."

With a singular nod Peter's gaze turned to follow hers to the distant horizon, searching for some microscopic distraction to bring her seizing heart to rest with whatever internal struggle she was experiencing. As the waves crashed before them, Peter and Olivia settled in silence beside one another, the wind to their backs as the ocean and Earth fought, a delicate balance of fury and grace; a beautiful ballet that seemed as endless as the waters before them.

They stood gazing at the ocean for what felt like hours, until a jingle from Olivia's pocket sent them back towards the scene. Turning into the sand they left, still as silent as before, letting the tide wash away their footsteps, once again smoothing the Earth where they stood.

* * *

><p><em>Harvard University<br>5:00pm_

John felt his chest squeeze tighter with each step he took, advancing him further down the busy hallways of Harvard University. Students entered and exited through doors and lockers down another hallway slammed, abuzz with activity. Rounding a stairwell he glided down the six or seven steps and found himself in front of Dr. Bishop's lab, and paused with his hand on the door, his heart rate increasing tenfold. He hadn't heard from Olivia in a day and a half since he dropped the bombshell of his redeployment. Each attempt he made to contact her was futile.

With a heavy sigh he forced open the doors and entered to find Dr. Bishop at the bottom tier, his focus was directed into the centrifuge that spun silently as he and Agent Farnsworth examined the blood work back on whatever corpse was lying on the bottom level. Two levels down sat Peter and Olivia, both hunched over a pile of books and papers, pens jotting away on bright yellow paper. A small chuckle from her throat echoed across the vast stone walls, reverberating towards where he stood.

"Olivia," Peter said with a smile as he caught site of John and nodded upwards towards him.

She turned around slowly and froze for a split second in her seat, her eyes narrowing as she stared daggers at John as he pressed his lips tighter together. In front of her, Peter's eyes reflected hers as he grinned in sheer curiosity. Normally now she'd be at the top of the stairs and paint John's lips with hers before they'd casually move towards her office. But this was different.

The look she gave him, if Peter had to pick a word, was nothing short of hostile.

"I'll be right back," she told Peter and grabbed her cell phone, her fingers dialing quickly as she disappeared into the back office.

John simply shook his head in frustration. "Peter," he called. "Can I have a word?" He watched Peter glance towards the back room, the door to her office remained closed.

"Sure," Peter responded, hesitancy in his voice, and made his way up the stairs. He leaned against the railing casually and crossed his arms.

John removed an envelope from his blazer and unfolded it, handing it to Peter. "The other day Olivia asked me to help with the case and find information on _Full Moon Howl, _the case that your victim was involved with. It took a little tugging, but I did find out information from a friend at the records office down in Washington."

Peter held up a hand. "Don't you think you'd want to discuss this with Olivia?"

John's shoulders dropped. "Therein lays a snag. She's a little… pissed at me for lack of a better word, in case you hadn't noticed," he sighed, "I thought we were past the whole keeping secrets bid, and that part I'll admit I screwed up on. I tried calling her to she won't pick up my calls. I thought we were past this whole thing, but every time I try to apologize she ignores it."

"What'd you do?" Peter blurted out without thinking and watching John retract at his statement. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean for it to come out like that. It's none of my business."

John's eyes shifted towards him as he sighed. "I kept a secret."

Peter cocked his head, grinning. "A secret? She's pissed at you because of a secret? What, you forget to put the seat down again or something?"

"This is a different situation, Peter," he said quickly, wiping Peter's smug grin off his face. "Olivia's not like other women. It's not my place to say what. But, I hate to do this, but can you ask her to call me? She listens to you, you know."

Peter laughed. "Right. The day Dunham _actually _takes what I say into considering hell's going to freeze over."

John remained steady and stiff, eying Peter and then left, letting the door close behind him with a solid _slam_.

Rolling his eyes Peter made his way towards the table and threw the envelope onto the dark top, leaning against it. Judging John's reaction his suspicious were near heightened that it was not just _something _that was bothering Olivia. It was _someone._ This was confirmed by his conversation with the suave Agent and his reaction. If there were relationship problems between Olivia and John that drama was something he wanted to avoid. Peter _hated _drama. If this is the way things were going to go, frankly, he didn't want to be caught in the middle of it. In the blink of an eye he found himself standing outside her door with his hand on the knob and twisted it, almost throwing the door open as he spoke.

Holding up her finger, she turned her head. "Alright, Charlie, thank you. I'll follow up." Hanging up her phone Olivia was silent towards him for a moment. "What did John want?"

Peter huffed. "Normally I'd say go ask him yourself, but since you two seem to be throwing axes at one another… the file you requested came through, about that military project our victim was supposedly involved with. He came to drop it off to you before you ran into here. So what's with the running off at the mere sight of him?"

"I had a phone call to make. John's not involved in this investigation and the information wasn't for him to overhear." She moved stiffly away from her desk, her response thick as she began scrolling through the Rolodex behind her.

"That's no reason to ignore him when he's trying to help, in his defense. Whatever he did, Olivia, I'm sure it can't be that bad. The guy came here to apologize for that matter. He feels just as bad as you're treating him. Sure, he did something that pissed you off, but what the punishment doesn't fit the crime."

She slammed her hands on the desk and turned sharply on her heels until she was inches from his face. "Stay out of it, Peter; this is _none_ of your business."

"Everyone has problems in a relationship, Olivia, and that's understandable. No one is perfect, but still that's no reason to give John the cold shoulder if he's trying to mend it." She stood her ground, fists balling at her sides. "If you're going to carry on like this, all clammy and irritated, then it _is _my business, _Olivia, _because when you're pissed at something you have a tendency to let it cloud your judgment. I'm just trying to help you thinking clearly."

"I never _asked _for your help in the first place, _Peter,_" Olivia challenged heatedly.

Peter huffed again, his pitch raising. "You _never_ ask for help, Olivia. I know you well enough to know that sometimes you need a little kick in the ass and a reality check in order for that to happen."

Olivia's eyes narrowed, giving him a disgusted look. "You _know _me, Peter? You don't know _anything_ about me," she said darkly, her face flushed as she turned sharply on her heel and swiped the file off the desk. Much like John, she left him standing alone as the door slammed behind her, the glass rattling in its perch.

"Like I said," he muttered to himself, "Stupid, stupid decisions." Shaking his head Peter exited her office to find Olivia had vanished from the lab and Walter and Astrid's eyes staring at him. Without another word Peter took up his perch at the table once again, feeling the emptiness in the air around him.

She was incorrigible, Peter knew, and there was no changing that.

* * *

><p><em>O'Leary's Tavern<br>Brighton. Midnight_

Swallowing another mouthful of beer Peter pressed his lips together, savoring the sticky taste on his lips, licking the remnants of the honey-sweet barley and let it all soak in. Placing the half empty bottle down on the bar he stared aimlessly into it, searching the vast foaming, yellow sea for an answer to the hundreds question that had him ultimately perplexed. Each time he found an answer, it always leads to more questions. That alone was obnoxious. Even more harrowing was the vivid dreams he had been having lately. Each time he awoke, he felt the urge to vomit and on some occasions did. Next was a pounding headache, like he downed a bottle of tequila the night before. But the effects were always the same. A blackout of time from his last memory to winding up on his bed, the nausea and sheer terror of what he did not remember.

Sipping his beer again he ran through the small aspects of his dreams he could recall. The dream image he remembered was a funeral. It was dark; the only illumination was the amber-yellow fire that burned on the stakes. A man stood at a podium, dressed in all black, his eyes sunken and red, but his face was unreadable, blurred by the heat of the fire. Behind him a casket floated silently in the wake of the bay. A sudden flash of light and the floating casket was set aflame, burning color into the night sky. The second dream was just as confusing. Here he watched as an older man sat on the back porch of a house, drunk and sobbing. Whatever the reason behind it Peter did not know, but it was a different sadness. Perhaps this dream and the first were linked in a way, but Peter couldn't make the connection.

Hallucinations were his only viable explanation. They had been working quite a few cases lately, with it being only hours between them. Sleep deprivation he knew could do that. But what had driven Peter to the bar that night wasn't the first dream, or the second. His third that week was the most vivid yet.

Every time he closed his eyes he a grave stone with Olivia's name on it, her name carved in stone burned across his memory. That image alone was enough to scare him half to death. He _saw_ the gravestone. He traced her name, felt the cold, rough stone beneath his fingertips. He felt his heart cease at the thought of her being no more. A voice, small and monotone rang in his head.

_Only you can save her._

Those five strange words were enough to make Peter's brain pound in confusion and terrifying curiosity. What did Olivia need saving from? From his point of view she was more than capable of handling herself. She had John to help her through the tough parts. Peter fit nowhere into her picture. She was just his partner, Olivia's colleague, a civilian consultant. To her, Peter was nothing more than a co-worker. But to him, Olivia Dunham was beginning to mean _something more_.

The more time he spent with her, the more he found himself getting lost within her. The sea glass green of her eyes, the way her hair fell over her shoulders, the intensity in her body and the sideways smile was enough to make Peter's green monster of jealousy creep up on him on the most unfortunate of times. Sure, she was stubborn, hard-nosed and sometimes downright annoying, but it was the little quirks that made Olivia… Olivia.

An angelic chime above the door echoed through the calm atmosphere, making Peter turn his head towards a low-lit corner, glowing yellow-orange against the dark shadows by the small candle. Sitting in the small booth sat a single figure, eyes lost in a haze of whiskey and her head resting on her palm, finger tracing the outline of the glass. His mouth ran dry as Peter stood, tossed a few bills onto the bar and made his way towards where Olivia Dunham sat at the table, silent, lost and alone.

"You know staring into that flame will make you go blind," he said, startling her slightly, her head jumping from its perch to gaze up at him. The saddened expression diminished from her cheeks as she chuckled slightly, averting her gaze back to her glass.

"That may not be such a bad idea, actually. No more gross crime scenes to see," she grinned, cool and smoky. Sliding into the seat across from her Peter leaned closer towards the warm light bouncing across her face. It was there he noticed a dark, haunted shadow that shrouded her eyes. Straightening her hunched back she sipped her glass. Was it their fight earlier? Maybe it was the seemingly raw nerve Peter hit.

Maybe, it was something entirely different.

"I'm sorry," Olivia said quietly. "For before. You were just trying to help. I had no right to yell at you like that."

"You're right, you didn't," Peter replied with an edge on his voice, "But I'm not the one to hold grudges for long" _Not with you, at least, _"But apology accepted nonetheless. What's been eating you, Olivia?"

Biting her lower lip she remained quiet, still staying away from his curious blue eyes. Encasing her glass in her palms the traced the outline of the rim, drawing in a slow deep breath. Even in the low light they sat in she tried to hide the quiver in her throat but Peter could see right through it. Painted a soft, pale brown by the light, he could see the sadness in her eyes; those beautiful emerald orbs were swollen and red.

Licking her lips, finally, she spoke, sandpaper in her throat. "John's being redeployed into the Marines. Apparently an old case he worked is being reopened and he's been summoned to continue its investigation. I'm not mad he's going, perhaps a little scared over it, but… he _knew _there was a chance. He didn't tell me- when we started dating. I'll be the first to admit I've got trust issues and something like this I would have hoped he'd mention. We both finished our tours with honorable mentions. This, though… this is something else." She swallowed the bowling ball in her throat. "I almost lost him one, Peter," she whispered, "I don't know if I could do it again."

Peter bowed his head as she wiped a few tears from her eyes. Removing the glass she clung to, he replaced it with his hands and laced his fingers in with hers. Giving her hands a gentle squeeze, he sighed, understanding the weight that resided on her chest. One conclusion came to mind. When Olivia was nervous, she became defensive. Weakness was not a strong suit. But this… this was something else. Olivia wasn't simply scared, he knew.

She was _terrified_.

Ever so gently Peter held her hands, felt her tremble and the coolness of her palms.

"He needs to know that. I saw the look in his eyes when he came to the lab earlier today. He thought it was simply because he didn't tell you. Olivia," Peter gently raised her chin to meet his eyes, pools of emerald tears spilled onto his finger, "You know better than anyone there's nothing better to tether you to reality when you're fighting a war like the thought of someone back home. If this case is any bit of dangerous, he needs you here, knowing what whatever happens, you'll be here. Don't let him leave thinking you won't be here for him. He's the luckiest man in the world to have you, Olivia. He needs to know that."

For a few moments she sat still, her pulse racing against his skin. "I should get going," whispered and let her hands slip effortlessly out of his. Standing she rounded her jacket around her shoulders, causing Peter to stand and do the same.

"I'll walk you home." It came out as more of a statement, rather than a question, like he had intended.

She paused hesitantly, gauging him from head to toe, but allowed him to follow suit. Together they left the bar and entered the crisp winter air. Silently they made their way around the city as the night grew colder, sharper and beautifully clear. Above them millions of stars glowed, spotting the black night with a beautiful light display. A gust of frigid wind would blow past, gently knocking their elbows together as they bowed from their jackets. Snow crunched underneath their feet as their hands feel deeper into their pockets, begging for whatever heat was trapped inside still. Eventually they came to her front door shucking the show from their shoes as she lead him upstairs, stopping just outside her door.

Slowly she slipped the key in the lock and turned it, a low _click _signifying the end of their journey. Turning, she leaned her shoulder against the door and focused on the ground, causing Peter to do the same. It was an unsung tension between them, a small voice that told her to push him away, but to pull him closer.

"Olivia," Peter sounded her name, rounding the vowels. "You don't have to go through this alone." Peter traced her bottom lip lightly as he cupped her cheek, "You've got Astrid, Charlie," he paused hesitantly, "and you've got me. So whatever you need to get through this, whether it'd be a shoulder to lean on or a punching bag, doesn't matter. I'm here for you."

She smiled in his hands; her cold skin cooled his warm palm. Placing one hand over his, she closed her eyes and sighed, entangling her fingers in his. "You know you're really not the hard-ass you make yourself out to be."

Peter chuckled. "Well don't tell the world that I'm a sucker at heart. It'll be bad for my ego."

Her smile brightened. "Thank you, Peter." Olivia whispered into his hands, her soft lips ghosting across his rough skin, a beautiful contradiction that made Peter's smile grow wider with hers.

_God, she was beautiful_.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" He asked hopefully.

Olivia nodded against his hand. "Yea." She left his touch abruptly, almost making Peter fall with the suddenness of it. "Good night," she said to him as her smile disappeared, leaving Peter in the hallway alone.

"Good night," he whispered into the air and left, turning on his heel and tromped down the stairs. Opening the door he sighed, glancing upstairs again, and with one final push exited into the cold December air...

* * *

><p><em>Anyone still reading? Hit that little button to let me know!<em>


	5. All You'd Ever Need

**Author's Note: **I do humbly apologize for the wait! Real life has gotten in the way of writing, but nevertheless, here's chapter 5! I hope you enjoyed it! Reviews are awesome! **  
><strong>

**All You'd Ever Need**

_Boston  
>06:45am, December 20, 2008<em>

Ice and fresh snow crunched beneath the hard rubber soles of her sneakers as they left a wide trail behind her. Snow kicked up in a white veil behind her as Olivia rounded another corner, her early morning run leading her back to the outer streets of Boston. Crossing a street she left the city sidewalks and made her way towards the park, a scenic route that she knew by heart. Her breath turned to smoke before her as Olivia's legs stepped in time with the rapid beating of her heart, a melody that was uniquely her tempo. Microscopic shards of airy glass cut deep within the tissues of her lungs as her chest burned with each filling breath. What had possessed her to go for a run at five-thirty in the morning was beyond her. It was an Antarctic two degrees, and yet something in her felt oddly warm- maybe it was the unsettling good mood she was in; maybe it was just the endorphins. As she followed the curving path, she came to the crest of a small bridge that spanned the lake and paused, allowing her legs to rest. Turning towards the city she bent over on the stone wall and breathed deeply, taking in the sight before her before continuing her route through the sleeping city, her eyes catching the festival of colors all around her.

There was something oddly magical about the morning night. The snow-covered streets of Boston, normally abuzz with car horns and obnoxious pedestrians, now lay quiet before her; a sleeping giant that sat tucked beneath a soft, snowy white blanket of winter and kept warm by the humble hint of the holidays that sat just around the corner. A light, steady snow fell quietly adding to the already thick down comforter that had wrapped itself snugly around the city just hours ago. Overhead the moon sat high in the night sky, casting a milky blue haze through the clouds that reflected from the frozen surface of the streets. Crystal reds, greens and golds illuminated past the frozen accumulation that made its bed on building signs and traffic lights. In the background a distant sound of bells rang and car doors slammed as store owners opened up shop for yet another day of business.

"_Liv,__I__'__m __so __sorry__…" _John's voice echoed in her head as she replayed their conversation in her head, his words falling into rhythm with her heart- soft, racing and strangely calm. _"__I __should__ have __told__ you.__" _

_She nodded, her head falling back into the headrest of his couch opposite where he sat, her hair falling across her shoulders like a curtain, masking the small smirk that fell across her lips. "Yes, you should have. So why didn't you?" _

_John shrugged, defeated. "I was afraid, I'll admit- afraid of your reaction… afraid that you'd reject the news. And," he rolled his eyes, nursing his wine glass tenderly, "I was right."_

_Olivia couldn't help but let a small grin escape her cheeks as she sipped her own glass, warm red wine soothed her irritated nerves. "Yes, you were."_

Their conversation from the night before ran through her mind, a never-ending motion picture that she couldn't get out of her head. Taking Peter's advice into consideration they parted, Olivia had left for John's apartment in the city to talk with him- rather confront the unannounced fear that had pooled viciously in her heart. A civil conversation was all Olivia wanted, and true to his word, that's what John had given her; a conversation and her own space as he sat on the opposite end of the couch as he handed her a glass of wine. In her lap sat a small pillow, her fingers wrapping the cloth tendrils delicately.

"_I guess…" she brought her knees to her chest, trying to suppress the jackhammer that took residence in her chest, "I was afraid too. The news was shocking I won't deny that." _

_He cocked his head curiously, bringing the wine glass to his lips. "You? Afraid?" He scooted closer, his interest was piqued greatly. "In all the years I've known you Liv, I'd never expect those words out of your mouth." _

_She shrugged, her chin resting on her knee. "People change, I guess." Connecting with his eyes again, she saw the question he was hesitating to ask. _

"_What is it, Liv?" he asked slowly, seeing her cheeks turn a flush red and her eyes water at the thick silence between them. Olivia had never been once to wear her emotions on her sleeve. But this, he knew, this was different. He moved closer, pulling her legs onto his lap and cupped her cheek. Letting the breath she had been holding out, she relaxed against his touch, a feeling she greatly missed. "Honey, what is it?" _

_She swallowed the nervous bowling ball in her throat. Her words were barely above a scratchy whisper. "This, this deployment is just another sock to the gut I wasn't prepared for. I almost lost you once, John. I don't know if I could bear to go through that again."_

"_Olivia, listen to me," he said quickly, seeing the emotions in her face swell as he brought his other hand to her burning cheeks, smoothing the trembling skin across her lips. "That isn't going to happen. I won't let it happen. I'm going to come home, Liv. We've worked too hard to get to where we are now just to have it blow up in our faces. I'll come home. I promise." _

_She sighed into his warm touch, quiet tears streaming down her face. "How can you make a promise that you can't guarantee on keeping?" _

_John smiled warmly, stroking her cheeks. "Because I am going to keep it. I made the mistake of leaving you once. I love you too much to put you through that again. So this is my word, Olivia. I'll come back for you." Leaning forward John kissed her lovingly, whispering against her lips, "With all my heart and soul, I'll come back. That's a promise I intend on keeping. It'll be you and me until the day we die."_

_Biting her lip, she gave in to her heavy heart and kissed him back, tears streaming down her face. "You and me?" she asked, a smile spreading across her lips, "I like the sound of that." _

_John smiled wider; he kissed her again he reached into his back pocket and removed a small velvet pouch. "Then you're going to need this. I've been trying to wait until the right moment, but…" Opening the bag John's heart swelled at the surprise on her face. Holding a shining diamond ring, he glanced back at her as Olivia's hands rose to her face, hiding the quivering excitement that now shimmered in her eyes. "Marry me, Olivia Dunham. Be mine." A different kind of tears began to cascade down her cheeks as she swallowed. "Always." _

_Her words caught in her throat as she nodded, kissing him once again as John pressed her into the couch, devouring her small body into his with a gentle nudge. Slipping the ring onto her finger he felt her mouth an affirmative 'yes' against his lips. _

Rubbing her hands together furiously Olivia tried to return the blood flow to her frozen finger tips, gliding effortlessly up the stairs at the same time. Behind her the doors to the apartment closed quietly in a careful attempt to not wake the world. All Olivia knew at that very moment was that a hot shower was very necessary. After living for almost seven years in Boston she still was not used to the frigid winter mornings. No matter how many layers she dawned before the sun rose, the harsh winds had always found its way to slip past her clothes and embed itself deep within her bones making Olivia shiver literally from the inside out.

Fidgeting to get her key out of her pocket she cursed slightly as her finger tips stung at the pressure of the cold metal in her hands, manipulating the tiny object to open the door. After two failed attempts she was able to maneuver the key in, click open the lock and enter the warmth of the living room, shaking once again to regain heat. Kicking off her wet sneakers she removed her jacket and hat. A fresh scent of coffee drifted towards her nose as she inhaled deeply, letting the warm aroma fill her and calm her aching muscles.

"In the regular world, the tradition after an engagement and make-up sex is one is suppose to sleep in and enjoy the morning," John chuckled, handing her a steaming cup, "Not wake up at five-thirty and run for an hour and a half."

She sipped it, the warm liquid melting the block of ice that settled in her chest. "Lucky we don't live in the regular world, then." Flashing him a smile John wrapped her into his arms in a warm bear hug and kissed her. "I guess it's a good thing your flight was delayed."

He nuzzled her chin, "Lucky indeed. Only more reason to stay cooped up in the house all day and call in sick." He kissed her again, enjoying the feeling of her chuckle catching in his throat. "So what convinced you to come here last night?"

She bit her bottom lip. "Peter, actually. He found me drowning my sorrows in a whiskey glass at the bar and we talked. He's not the heartless bastard I thought him out to be in the beginning. He's quite the gentleman, surprisingly."

John raised an interrogating eyebrow. "How much of a gentleman are we talking, exactly?" She let out a hearty laugh and playfully slapped his shoulder.

"He brought me back to my apartment, we talked and that was it. You may actually owe him a thank you." She smirked as he rolled his eyes.

"I'll think about it."

She sipped the warm coffee again. "Well, while you get to play grab ass all day and relax, I have a murder to investigate, and a warm shower to attend to." Slipping away from his arms John looped his hand around her waist.

John grinned. "I believe I can help with two out of the three- the ass grabbing and the shower, definitely. Your murder investigation, however? No promises." Walking slowly towards the bathroom Olivia smiled as she placed the mug down on the table, laughing aloud as he picked her up around her waist and carried her into the bathroom, slowly closing the door behind him.

* * *

><p><em>Harvard Lab<br>11:00am_

"Morning," Olivia said as she trotted down the stairs with a smile on her face and a bounce in her step.

Peter laughed as he flipped through yet another page of notes, his curiosity spiked, "And what, pre-tell, has put you in _such_ a fine mood?"

Olivia shrugged, trying to hide the growing blush in her cheeks, "Just had a good morning, that's all." Peter cocked his head at the hint of shyness in her eyes as they turned a bright green. "Walter," she called and motioned for him to join them at the table where Peter and Astrid sat. "We got the toxicology reports back from the two victims and there was something… unusual about their blood work. The pH of the blood was very low and they found some form of dye in the victims' blood."

"What kind of dye?" Peter asked leaning towards her, the sweet scent of vanilla filled his nose.

"Floreuscein dye," Walter responded quickly.

Olivia nodded slowly. "How did you know that, Walter?"

Walter said nothing. Instead he moved back towards the bottom tier and grabbed a small, handheld ultraviolet light and held it up to the bodies. All along the cut marks and some of the skin the areas glowed a faint blue-green, while the traces of blood shined in a pale blue-white. "It is here, present in the bodies, mostly in the veins. I found a clear substance when I was doing the autopsy, not just in the blood but on the skin as well. At first I thought it to be just plasma or fluid draining from the cell membranes, but I too found the blood to be acidic when I tested it myself. Keep reading the report, Agent Dunham, I'm sure you'll find a substance in their blood as well."

Flipping through the pages, her eyes caught onto what Walter was hinting towards. "Ethylene glycol?" she questioned, "Antifreeze?"

"So someone poisoned the victims with antifreeze before killing and dismembering them?" Astrid said, pondering.

Peter shrugged. "It'd make sense. Ethylene glycol is very easy to slip into someone's food, even drink. It's odorless, colorless and has a very sweet taste, one of the many reasons for poisonings in kids and animals. Also it's easy to get a hold of, go to any car shop and there are tons of them."

Walter gazed lazily into space. "I'd reason to say that our victims didn't even know what they were getting into. A simple date or eating out would do the trick. It works to attack the central nervous system first, than the heart and kidneys. Finally everything shuts down, leading to death. Depending on the amount ingested it can take only a few hours to do so," mused Walter as he stared quizzically at the bodies before him. "The low freezing point would suggest why part of their blood hadn't crystallized yet, as would any residual urine left over in the bladder."

"Trying to search for any distributors of antifreeze would take too long, so trying to make that jump would be hard," Olivia said, glancing towards Astrid. "Any word back on the tattoos?"

Astrid nodded. "There's dozens of places around here, again, too much information to sort through in a short period of time."

"Well considering the limited time we have, perhaps we should start going local, show a picture of the tattoo around, maybe some local places will have an idea about it." Olivia said and left to update Charlie on their findings.

Peter sat at the table and stared off into the black space of the counter top, his mind processing as he thought. Something didn't add up, it was all too coincidental- between the tattoos and the toxicology reports, Peter's mind had been torn into pieces trying to find a small connection. There was _something_… there had to be.

"Astrid," Olivia called from the door, "Stay here and see if you can dish up anything more about the tattoos and if Walter needs anything. Run a search and see if you can find a connection between the two victims. Charlie and I are going to see if we can get anything on these tattoos. Peter, you're coming with me, and bring the file John dropped off, we can read it in the car."

Astrid and Peter nodded as they began to collect their things and separate; Astrid headed towards the computer while Peter grabbed his coat and met Olivia towards the door. In silence, files in hand, they left and were met by a frigid blast of winter air as they stepped outside of the building. Once inside the car they left for their first destination fifteen minutes down the road.

"Have you been able to figure out anything from the file?" she asked casually.

Peter shook his head. "Not much. _Full__ Moon __Howl _was a joint-military project that operated in the late nineteen-ninety's, early two-thousand out of a base in North Carolina. There were a total of twenty participants from various backgrounds… Navy, Army, Air Force, Marines, the National Guard, even the Coast Guard- these guys really had a handle on it. Everything was sealed away and filed as above top secret. According to this was a breach in security in early two-thousand and three. Information and chemical compounds were stolen and unrecoverable. They don't even know who the thieves were, just that within a matter of minutes they cracked the security code and were gone."

"And they haven't heard a peep from the thieves since? No mention of anyone wanting to blackmail or hold the information for ransom?" she asked, turning onto the main stretch of streets.

"Nope, nothing."

She sighed. "What about the chemical compounds? What were they trying to make?"

Peter flipped over another page and grunted. "Doesn't say- just that they were stolen but there's no list of what was taken." He closed the file and threw it onto the dashboard. "Well that was helpful." When Olivia gave no response he casually glanced at her. Her eyes were squinted, her mouth pressed as she sat frozen in the driver's seat lost in thought. That was easy to read on her face. "Olivia what are you thinking?"

She spoke slowly, dragging the words out as they formulated on her tongue. "That file is missing information, whether it was left out of the report or purposefully tampered with, the log is incomplete. It has to be. If there's one thing I've learned working with the Marines is that the less information provided in mission log, the greater the conspiracy behind it. Something so top secret is _that_ vague, there's something wrong with it."

He could see the process in her head. "In other words you know a guy?"

Olivia nodded smoothly. "I know a guy. He's an old friend of my father's. They served in the Vietnam War together. My father was an Army officer at the time, and Bernie, the record's keeper. A bomb was detonated near their camp site and Bernie's leg was broken. Had it not been for my father, he would have never survived. Since then Bernie and his wife were like a second family. He'd do anything for my father, and when he died, that promise was passed along to Rachel and me. So yeah," she glanced at him, "I know a guy." Peter laughed at the smug expression on her face.

"You know a guy," he parroted and shimmied further down into the seat, getting comfortable as they merged and headed towards the northern Massachusetts border. As they drove Peter couldn't help but steal glanced towards the woman next to him. There was something different about her, something that made Peter's heart throb with jealousy and mystery at the same time. It was the way she sat relaxed in the seat, her hand draped causally over the steering wheel and the subtle hint of a smile that remained all morning on her lips.

* * *

><p><em>Georgetown, MA<br>2:00pm_

Bernard Riddle was an older man significantly touched by time. His once strong back now curved smoothly in the shape of a mended iron, frail and chipped. His bones creaked each time he moved, audible old hinges that were worn by years of wear and tear; his skin wrinkled, overlapping across his face and cheeks like an ancient rug. His smile was almost all gums and denture based, the smell of Polident had made Peter nauseous at the thought of it. His house, an older Victorian style dwelling was coated with out-dated furniture and wallpaper, and smelled of mothballs and even stranger, fresh baked cookies. But what Peter enjoyed most about this man was his eyes and his humor. He was only sixty, but his body was much older with the exception of his eyes; they were bright and fierce, and his mind as sharp as a tack.

Peter couldn't remember the last time he saw Olivia smile as wide as she did.

"How are the grand-kids, Bernie?" Olivia asked after releasing the old man from a well deserved hug, "Davey still wanting to join the lacrosse team?"

Bernard- Bernie, rather- nodded as he escorted her to the living room and offered her and Peter a seat. "That boy's got his father's spirit," he muttered, shaking his head. "But I feel that isn't why you came here today, is it Livvie?"

Her smile faded. "I'm sorry, Bernie, no."

Bernie shook his head, "Pity." Rocking back onto his heels he sat slowly into his chair. "What can I do for you, ma'dear?"

"I need information on a case you may have heard of, Bernie, a joint military project called _Full __Moon __Howl.__" _At the mention of the case, Bernie's wrinkled smile faded, "We're investigating a murder that may involve the project and unfortunately the information I need I don't have. You worked for years in the records department; surely you must've heard something about it."

He crossed his legs and twiddled his thumbs. "I take it you found the tattoos then, on your victims?"

Olivia's eyes shrunk together. "Yes, we found tattoos, but what does that have to do with the project?"

Glancing back into the kitchen, Bernie peaked in at his wife, who stood humming happily against the stove as she stirred a pot of sauce. "There's more to what you know, and what that file leads on to believe. The project was something I'm not proud to have knowledge of. It wasn't just a classified project- it was something that could change the fate of warfare as we know it."

"How so?" asked Peter.

Bernie sighed. "When the atomic bomb was dropped, that opened up new channels of scientific experiments. What _Full__ Moon __Howl _set out to do was top the chemical technology that was dropped on Hiroshima. They wanted it to be powerful with greater effects."

Peter huffed, glancing towards Olivia, "What the hell's more powerful than an atomic bomb?"

"They weren't looking to build a bomb, per say, but something less flashy, but with a bigger punch. They called it 'Silent Night', the chemical compound they created. Together the elements are harmless, but when mixed they created a tasteless, odorless compound that would blanket cities like a fog, killing anyone who was within miles of the gas. The reason for the name is something entirely sick. Picture the night, still and silent, the only thing rising above the quiet horizon is a full moon, and in the background a wolf howls, marking the night with a terrifying cry as it stalked its prey. The organization would often reference to their under covers who they were working with as the wolves. Silent in the night they'd hunt and when they'd choose their target, silently they'd attack and leave no trace."

Olivia sat forward, her elbows resting on her knees. "The tattoo? Was that some sort of marker to identify who their agents were?"

Bernie nodded slowly. "Think of them as sleeper cells, if you will. They would place a tattoo somewhere on their body, not obvious, so when the time came to identify themselves they could do so without harm. The two victims were agents in the terrorist organization that was responsible for funding the project, later turned rogue and literally disappeared off the face of the planet. That was over a decade ago."

"Would removing fingerprints be part of their requirements to be in this terrorist group?" she asked.

"It wasn't just a requirement, it was a necessity. Doing so would allow their agents access to any files that required a finger print analysis to enter. All they needed was a solid fingerprint and they were almost invisible. Hard copies of the files are locked away in a basement safe, Olivia, I'm sure you'll know where."

Peter glanced at her, confused, but as always she avoided his gaze. "What was the group's name?"

Bernie fell oddly silent as he sighed hesitantly, his eyes shifting to the brown and yellow designs in the carpet. "I… really shouldn't be telling you this, Livvie. The information I possess isn't t be taken lightly. Should they find out about my telling you…" the old man trailed, his voice ran dry.

Olivia sighed, her voice low and calm, "If you don't tell me, many more lives could be on the line. We can stop them, whatever they're planning, I just need a name. There won't be a record of your involvement."

He shook his head. "You don't understand, Olivia. They have ways of knowing. Don't ask me how, but they do. I'm going to tell you, but I can almost guarantee that before the sun sets tomorrow, I'll be dead." He sighed. "The organization isn't to be taken lightly, run by a man who himself has defied the laws of physics." Leaning forward he removed a folded piece of paper form his pocket. "For when you get to where it's safe."

Olivia nodded and took the paper, standing as her host did. "It was good to see you, Bernie, thank you. I'll speak to the local PD about putting a protective detail around your house until this is all over."

The old man smiled and nodded, taking Olivia into his arms, "Whatever comes from this, I have sealed my fate already. Take care, Livvie. Good luck." Without another word the duo left Bernie on his front porch, a gray and sorrowful mask fell over the wrinkles in his cheeks.

Once in the car, Olivia sat back in her seat and sighed, a sudden uneasiness washed over her as she glanced back to where Bernie stood. She pressed her lips together as her stomach churned.

"You okay?" Peter asked, alarmed at the rapid loss of color in her cheeks. "You look like you're about to puke."

"What do you think he meant by that? His fate was sealed?" She asked, absently staring at the steering wheel.

He shrugged. "I don't know. Why?"

She turned towards the house again. "You know that feeling when you know something bad is going to happen, and then a few days later it does?" Peter nodded. "That's what I'm feeling."

He patted her knee, "Don't worry about it, Olivia. He's a grown man; he can take care of himself." She nodded once before starting the car and pulling away from the curb.

Back on his porch, Bernie sighed silent cries as he watched Olivia and the other man pull away. Inside his heart was racing and his stomach doing flip flops. Above him the sky turned a thick, inky black as more clouds began to float through. This was it, he knew- the end of his journey to trying to set things right. There was a lot in his life he had regretted, and spending time with that devil of a man was on the top of his list. If his life meant the end of all this, he decided, whatever fate threw his way he was going to accept.

His hands shook, bracing him against the door frame as slowly, he closed the door behind him.

* * *

><p><em>Boston International Airport<br>12:55am_

Mechanical voices of the announcers echoed through the vast, empty terminal as it bounced between night-frosted stained glass windows and the tall steel beams that made the ceilings of Boston International tower high above their heads. The airport around them was nearly barren, with the exception of a few people sleeping in seats or on the floors for a long layover. Luggage wheels and heels clicked rhythmically against the linoleum as Olivia and John trekked slowly towards the gate at the end of the terminal, eyes down and fingers laced tightly together as their destination grew in their line of vision. They had said nothing to one another on the drive over, the silence a satisfactory conversation between them to pass the time.

"_Flight 938 for London now boarding gate forty-two, all passengers." _

"They really need to get new announcers," Olivia's cracked voice said as she pressed her lips together, her eyes watered as she handed John his carry-on. She clutched her waist, hoping to avoid his static stare. Licking her lips, she spoke in hushed tones. "You of all people should know I'm not so great with good-byes."

John couldn't help but smile seeing the state she was in. He cupped her moist cheeks in the warmth of his palms as she fell into his gentle touch, savoring the moment as it burned into her skin. "It's not good-bye, Liv. I told you I'll come back. I _promise_you I'll come back. Think of it as an 'I'll see you later'." She nodded slowly as John pulled her small frame into his, wrapping his arms around her in a tight hug, whispering sweetly into her ear. "All you'd ever need is right here. Remember that." He stroked her lips gently before pressing his, kissing her with a feverous passion, his final drink before crossing the desert-like ocean. "I love you," he whispered into their kiss. "Always."

"_Final call for flight 938 for London, final call." _

With one final, lingering kiss he stepped backward, smiling and turned towards the gate. She smiled through tear-drop eyes and waved until he was gone from sight. Wrapping her arms around her torso Olivia made her way towards the large glass panes and stared across the vast nigh, glancing at the spotted illuminations from the jet liner. Silent tears streaked down her face as she shuttered and drew in a jagged breath in a feeble attempt to calm her jarred nerves. She swallowed hard and sighed. Despite the warm atmosphere around her, Olivia shuttered and shivered. A hand at the small of her back made her jump slightly, her head turning to see Peter standing next to her with a cup of coffee. She gave him a sad smile and accepted.

"You okay?" he asked his voice low and full of concern.

She gave a single nod, sipping the piping liquid. "Yeah." She paused. "Thanks for coming, Peter," she said, glancing up at him.

"I had nowhere else to be, and I figured you wouldn't be in any condition to drive home," he played. Peter hesitated for a brief moment before wrapping one arm across the span of her shoulders and pulling Olivia into him into a comforting embrace. Feeling her relax against him he smiled at her as she nursed the cup again. "You're gonna be fine, Olivia. It's rough, but you've got all of us here for you. Whatever you need, I'm here."

"I know," she whispered and offered him a small smile back, sinking further into the warmth of his body and the strength in his arm.

Together they stood in absolute silence and watched the jet leave its base and creep towards its designated take off area. In the distance it seemed to disappear against the black back drop of night, the only hint of its existence was the strobes at the end of the wings, a beacon for whatever landmark it would call home. It sat still for a few more minutes before it picked up speed, silent turbines pushing the metal body past the breaking point until it effortlessly glided off the ground and into the sky, flying further and further away from where they could see it from the terminal. Minutes passed until the strobes grew dimmer and disappeared all together.

Olivia let the breath she had been holding go finally as Peter held her gently, a wordless comfort that had made her believe everything _was _going to be okay. Standing silent in Peter's arms she felt herself relax. For the first time, in a long time, she let her shoulders drop from their tense position and simply sighed.

On her cue Olivia turned and began the trip back to the car, exhaustion suddenly washing over her like a tide. She fought it the best she could but lost that battle. Surrendering her keys to Peter she slipped into the passenger's seat and buckled. Before Peter could even get into the car he heard a soft snore come from her sleepy body as she curled into the door. Removing his jacket slowly he reached across the console and tucked the corners around her shoulders with a smile on his face.

Chivalry wasn't dead after all.

* * *

><p><em>Georgetown, MA<br>04:00am_

Sleep, Bernie knew, would not come easily. Not after today. In the dark of his living room he sat still as a stone, his eyes glued to the front door. He knew they'd be coming for him. Ever since Olivia left, he _knew _it. How they knew, he always pondered, was beyond him. He even left the front door unlocked, as to not wake his wife when they came for him. With each passing headlight he stiffened and relaxed. Every small, minute sound that reached his hearing made him tense with the anticipation of what was about to happen- with what _would_ happen, given his recent betrayal. How they would kill him was the mystery Bernie was still trying to solve as he sat quietly.

"They know, don't they?" came a dark voice from behind him. Out of the shadows came the shining black barrel of a gun and a man masked entirely in black. "Those FBI Agents who came to the house today."

Bernie kept his curved back straight, his face firm. "They came here asking questions about _Full__ Moon __Howl._ I don't know how they came to get the information, but they did. I have grappled with what we had done, and I've hated myself for years because of it. If giving information to put the likes of you behind prison means death, it's a price I'll gladly pay. But before you kill me, take warning." He smiled in the night. "They _will _catch you, and when they do, you can expect me to be smiling down. Don't underestimate them. They're smarter than you think."

The man chuckled. "On the contrary, Bernard, he knows exactly how smart they are. In fact, he's counting on it." the gun man hissed. "Good bye, old friend."

A muffled gun shot rang out in the quiet space like a puff of wind as the gunman unloaded his magazine into Bernie's crippled body, silent sprays of blood spurting out behind him as he stumbled backward, clutching his chest. Slowly he fell to the floor and panted, his lungs filling with fluid as he coughed hard. Slowly the gunman stood over Bernie and aimed the barrel towards his head and firing one final shot between his eyes, killing the old man for good.

Without a second glance the man left, following the same remorseless path that lead him to the back door of Bernard Riddle. Walking through the thick brush the man disappeared into the night as the wind picked up speed, howling through the bare branches, reminiscent of a wolf as it called, a bone chilling call that echoed in the distance.

* * *

><p><em>I do hope you liked this chapter, again, I wasn't fond of it. Reviews are kindly left. Be sure to keep an eye out for the final chapter of "Crash into You" coming this week! Chapter 6 coming soon! <em>


	6. Riddle Me This

To those celebrating, Happy Thanksgiving! So it's a month until Christmas and I'm in a very cheery holiday mood and the muse told me to end this chapter the way I did. Hehehe…

Thanks for sticking with me, updates coming soon, as well as the next chapter of my latest fic, _The__ Shade __of __Poison __Trees_, coming hopefully this weekend!

Reviews are wonderful as always! Next few chapters are going to get juicy!

* * *

><p><strong>Riddle Me This<strong>

_Georgetown, MA  
>December 21, 2008<br>07:30am_

For as long as Olivia could remember, it never snowed on Christmas- especially in Florida- and no matter what superstition she followed the weatherman was always wrong. The idea of wearing pajamas inside out, a ring around the moon, nothing could satisfy her desire for a Floridian white Christmas. The closest she ever saw to it was when Mr. Jacobs dropped the laundry detergent outside their house when she was four and the sprinkler caught the white mist; the powdered flakes swirled in the atmosphere, soapy snow-white bubbles and suds formed a small embankment next to her tricycle tires. She remembered catching a flake on her tongue, the sheer imagination of what a snow flake tasted like consumed her senses. Instead of the taste of sweet, frozen rain she tasted sour, stinging chemicals that had been only the gateway for her dislike of the holiday season all together.

The few memories of her childhood around the holidays weren't filled with pine needles, jolly jingles, peppermint canes and sweet morsels of cookies; instead her tree was non-existent. She received bruises instead of presents. Instead of sugar cookies and sweets, she would taste was coppery blood when her step-father would hit her. The music wasn't music at all, but the horrific sounds of his heavy steps and the jingle of an empty bourbon bottle as it smashed against the wall, glass falling to the floor like broken bells. There was no caroling, except for his deep, think, slurred voice as it screamed her name. The closest thing she ever received to a hug was the sting of his hand against her cheek; the throbbing that came with it kissed it gently not too soon afterward.

Her heart sunk jealously in her chest as she stood in the home of the late Bernard Riddle, the rare memories she held onto trudged through her mind as she glanced at the latest Christmas card displayed proudly on the mantle above the fireplace- his grand-kids all smiling in Santa hats and reindeer antlers at the imagined smiling faces of Bernie and his wife. It was something she had been invited to partake in many times when she was younger, a Christmas she had always dreamed for but never had. She sighed slowly and turned the picture downward in hopes they wouldn't imagine the sight before them.

"Dunham," Broyles said softly, his hand on her shoulder. "If this is too much, I can send the case off into different hands."

"No. It's fine." Her reply was short, punctuated as she turned and slipped her hands into a pair of gloves. "I owe him this much, at least. It'll be fine." Glancing at the Bishops as they crouched, she sighed. "Walter, anything?"

The older Bishop, honing in on the hidden dismay in her voice shook his head. "This man, your friend, was murdered in cold blood. He was shot in the chest and managed to survive. The final bullet through the head was what killed him." Walter's lip quivered, choosing his words carefully as he leaned over and moved a stray strand of silver hair from the wound. "What his has to do with our other two victims is beyond me." He stood, moving to the other side and continued his examination.

Olivia sighed, nodded silently and excused herself, moving to the backyard through the sea of black figures. Behind her she closed the sliding glass door and sighed. The trees in front of her were bare, stripped by the harsh winter wind, the grass gray and the wind turned to ice. Against her burning cheeks, however, it was inviting. The rusty squeak of a swing set caught her edge of hearing as it mourned the loss of its owner in a small, miniscule creak, aged metal falling like tears. Slowly she moved to the middle of the porch and crept down the wooden stairs until she was out of sight, sitting on the bottom step and letting her head fall into her lap.

What had she done in this lifetime to be the epicenter of those who were ripped away from her? First her father when she was four, then her mother at fourteen. She never knew her grandparents. She never really _had_ a family. No biscuit tossing or Thanksgiving football, no Christmas parties with neighborhood kids and New Years Eve snowball fights. Her stepfather came into the picture around her fifth birthday and terrorized her for years before she ended it. Rachel moved to Chicago with her niece a few years ago, and it was a rare occasion now she was able to see them. Her best friend from college was killed in a car accident last year, and another ended his own life just months ago. Now Bernie, who didn't have a bad bone in his body, now lay in a pool of cold blood just feet from where she sat.

The old wooden porch creaked next to her as she felt another body enter her own atmosphere, the scent of leather and menthol aftershave made her nose tingle. Like the gentleman he was Peter removed his coat and draped it over her almost bare shoulders, covered by nothing more than a thin long sleeve shirt. His hand centered itself between her shoulder blades and applied gentle pressure in small circles while the other rested on her knee. She didn't have to look up to know the neutral expression that fell on Peter's face as he sat with her, letting her have her own moment to reflect. She felt her body shiver at the gentle touch he placed, matching the quivering breaths that she let escape from her lungs.

Peter went to open his mouth, but words escaped him. He only met this man less than twelve hours ago and was feeling the sting of loss, but for Olivia, a mentor and one of the few friends he knew she had, hitting home was definitely the understatement.

"I know there aren't many words to say other than I'm sorry," he whispered into the frozen mist, "But if there's anything I can do-"

Olivia nodded, suddenly shifting from his touch. "I know," she said and avoided his statement all together. Wiping all emotion from her face she sighed. "I know. I just can't factor in what had made someone do this. Bernie was a sweetheart."

"I believe I may have an answer to that, Agent Dunham," Walter said from behind them. "And I fear it may not be the answer you're looking for." Olivia glanced towards Peter's confused face as she left her seat and followed Walter's hunched figure back into the house. Floating through the sea of black figures once again they came to an opening where Bernie lay quiet. With his knees cracking Walter bent down and nodded to Agent Farnsworth as she pulled the limp arm of the man upward and pulled back his sleeve.

For the second time that day, Olivia's heart burned in dismay and crashed with mistrust. "He's got a wolf tattoo," she whispered, a sudden rage filled the hole that had been torn. The sadness in her eyes turned to anger, red boiling in her eyes. "He was one of… them."

Walter nodded and spoke slowly, choosing his words with precaution. "I am sorry, Agent Dunham, for your friend."

Her fists balled at her sides as her words thickened, holding back the new found aggression that slowly rose in her throat. "No. He wasn't a friend. Not anymore."

Peter watched curiously as she exited and spoke quietly to Broyles, a pleading expression glazed over her furious eyes. The subtle gestures she spoke with had several meanings that he couldn't decipher. Anger? Hatred? Disappointment, perhaps? But only one word came to mind as Peter watched her expression harden into emotionless clay.

Betrayal.

"I hope I didn't ruin anything between you and Agent Dunham, Peter," said Walter as he continued his work, "You two looked rather cozy on the stairs."

Next to him, Astrid smiled.

"No, Walter, you didn't interrupt anything, I promise." Peter said his attention focused to where Olivia and Broyles talked in hushed tones. He sighed, seeing the frustration in her face and gestures.

Almost two hours later the clutter of cars and police tape began to filter down slowly until the only units left were Olivia's SUV and the ambulance to transport the body. Standing outside in the cold, she stood quietly next to the stretcher and stared at the remains Bernie. A thousand words came to mind to describe him, but as she continued to gaze at the ashen color of his skin, the angry words she had bottled up poured out, leaving her feeling just as empty as before. How could she hate someone who had been such a prominent figure in her life? It was a daunting task that left her feeling drained.

As the coroner pulled the handle and lifted the body inside, she found Peter once again at her side. Glancing sideways towards him, she forced a small smile that both said nothing and said everything. Surrendering her keys Peter took then graciously as they headed towards the SUV. For the second time in less than twelve hours Olivia climbed into the passenger seat and buckled against the cold cloth, her head resting on the frosted window.

"You hungry?" he asked casually, the engine roaring to life as cold air blasted from the vents. Her eyes were trained on the rows of houses that sat quietly before her.

"Starving, actually," she muttered into the frosted glass.

Peter grinned. "Good, because I know this place just a few miles from here that has _the _best bacon, egg and cheese sandwiches in the state. My treat, and before you protest, we're stopping. You haven't eaten anything since yesterday morning, Olivia. Don't make me force feed you."

Olivia huffed, a small smile spread across her pale lips. "Well if you're offering to pay I can't say no. Breakfast it is." Placing the car in drive Peter made a quick u-turn and headed towards the small town, a satisfactory grin settled on his face.

* * *

><p><em>Harvard Lab<br>08:00pm_

For what felt like the hundredth time in the past hour Olivia shifted in her chair uncomfortably, her eyes feeling heavier with each agonizing minute that passed. Fatigue, stress and a sudden heavy heart had made it even harder to focus, her attention slowly drifted away from the papers she had been staring at since ten this morning. Slowly her attention spanned away from the paper she scribbled on and her vision blurred with a hazy desire for sleep. Spread across her desk was a vast sea of papers, sprawled around like a child's toys. No visible pattern, but uniquely her own method of sorting them. Between crime scene photographs, notes she had written and other documents she sifted through the spread until she found the paper she was looking for.

"I still don't understand how you can work like this," said Peter as he entered, handing her a steaming cup of needed coffee, "I thought Walter was bad, but this is just absurd."

Olivia grinned at him from behind her glasses, "My mother used to say the same thing when I was younger. That whole philosophy of keeping my room clean wasn't well maintained in my house. My sister's always been the neat freak." Flipping through the file again her face dropped at the sight of Bernie's profile. She closed it quickly and leaned back, a familiar flush rose to her cheeks. "It makes you wonder," she whispered in a half-hearted laugh, "Who nowadays we can really trust."

Peter leaned casually on her desk, "Meaning?"

"Bernard Riddle wasn't even his real name," she said, licking her lips. "It was Richard Kessler, Riddle was an alias."

"Kind of ironic don't you think?" grinned Peter, a small smirk falling across his face, "The mystery of a man named Riddle." Olivia glanced at him, and forced a small, miniscule chuckle from her. "Did that paper he gave you the other day help anything on that?"

She nodded once and pulled another file from behind Riddle's. "Take a look at this," she handed him the file. "The note wasn't _just _a note; it was a coded case file. At first I thought it to be nonsense, but it sparked an old case I investigated a while ago with John. A group who, like the cases we've seen, is using science as a weapon. They've been sighted for numerous attacks in the past few years, coming from a scientific nature. Until now we haven't been able to trace it, but the information we have may have given us a small lead. Take a look at page thirty-five, sound familiar?"

Flipping through the papers, Peter couldn't help but grin, "Well I'll be damned," he exclaimed with wide eyes. "Riddle may have been part of ZFT?"Olivia nodded towards his suspicion.

"Keep reading."

Straightening up, Peter took a breath. _"__Like__ many __of __the __cases __investigated __before, __Richard __Kessler __is __among__ another__ entity __we __believe __to __be __involved __with __the __bio-terrorist__ group, __ZFT.__ Forty__ years __ago, __Kessler __was __among __its __top__ ran king __officers __alongside __other __well __known__ names. __His __first __project_," Peter paused, his eyes widened, _"__Was__ a__ joint__ military__ project__ created__ for __the __sole__ purpose __to __test __the __human __limits __of __survival __and __how__ far __they __could __go __under __any __condition. __Pulling__ from__ many __sources __Kessler __was __believed __to __be __the __ring __leader __behind __a __project __he __called __Full __Moon __Howl. __Participants __were__ screened__ for __their __capabilities, __both__ intellectual __and __physical, __and __given__ the __task __to __design __a __weapon __not __of __metal __or __explosives, __but __a __way __to__ chemically __alter __the __body __in __order __to __survive __any __means __of __warfare.__" _

Olivia leaned forward, "That project wasn't _just_ a research on chemical weapons. They were looking for a way to alter humans to make them the weapons, super soldiers would be a good term. Added strength, agility, skin tough as diamonds, it goes on for pages; however each time it failed, the reason unknown."

"So you're thinking someone may have taken up Kessler's old work, sold it to ZFT and shut him up in order to make it succeed?"

She shrugged, "I don't know, to be honest. The file says that after a while the project was shut down and Kessler disappeared off the face of the planet, hence where Bernard Riddle comes into play. Either that or he was living two different lives. One as a war hero-"

"-and the other as a terrorist using his military clearance to gain access to certain things," Peter concluded and Olivia nodded, "I guess the next task is trying to figure out what where the compounds, what he was trying to create and who has began his work again."

She nodded again. "Exactly. Someone has to be funding this and my suspicions are someone who is in ZFT. Bermudez, the man in the trailer, whatever connection they had I'm still not sure. Perhaps while they were serving they were doing the same thing, and that tattoo was a way to identify who they were working for."

He raised a curious eyebrow. "I take it you have an idea where to start?"

"No," she sighed, "That's where I've drawn a blank. After that the trail goes cold. I've searched every database I could think of and there's nothing. It shows Bernie to be a war hero and outstanding citizen, nothing on his past life."

Peter scratched his chin in thought. "So maybe it's time to investigate exactly _who _he was. Riddle me this, Dunham. What makes a man suddenly stop his work and discard it, change his name and decide to change professions?"

Olivia leaned back in her chair and ran her fingers through her hair. "I don't know," she whispered, darker than before. It didn't take a rocket scientist to see past the chiseled expression that rest across her face, neutral and bothersome.

Scooting closer Peter placed a friendly had on her shrunken shoulder. "If it's too much, Olivia, we can-"

"Its fine," she snapped quickly, "We can begin the investigation tomorrow. I'm… just going to head home, I don't feel well." With hurried hands she gathered the files and nestled them underneath her arm and grabbed her coat. "Good night," she said, her words fleeing before her as Peter shook his head. He had known Olivia well enough by now to know that she wasn't the type to let everything play out on her sleeves. She was a Cheshire cat of sorts, blending in and keeping everything locked behind a deceptive smile and false bright eyes, her emotions invisible- even to her. It'd only be time until she caved, her colors showing and exploding in dark blues and pastel grays.

How long it took, Peter decided, was a mystery all its own.

* * *

><p><em>Bishop Residence<br>December 22, 2008  
>08:00pm<em>

His breath cast a frosty shadow on the window pane as Walter peaked curiously outside the window and watched the sprinkle of white flakes as they fell from the sky. A small, carefully crafted smile spread across Walter's face as the scratchy sound of an old record spun delicately in the background, the acoustics hummed peacefully against his ears. The trees swayed gently to their atmospheric maestro, limbs tangling in a delicate winter dance that made Walter feel at peace. Gentle piano cords mixed harmoniously with a smooth saxophone and bells as it played, warming the house alongside the fireplace. From the kitchen radiated the scent of warmed cinnamon, sugar and sweet apples as the pie he threw together began to take shape, filling the air with a delicious, sweet scent of Christmas.

"Peter," he called as his breath fogged the window once again, "After we decorate the tree can we make gingerbread houses?"

From his perch on the couch, lazily reading a magazine, Peter smiled towards the text, "If you'd like, yes. Either that or wait until the pie is finished, we can make the batter by hand. I know you always liked to do that when I was younger."

His father nodded, "Indeed, I did." He paused as another thought crossed his mind. "Perhaps, as farfetched as this may sound, you could invite Agent Dunham over for Christmas dinner. I'm sure she could use some company during the holidays."

His eyes peaked curiously over the edge of the magazine. "Come again?"

Moving from his seat Walter stood and grabbed a small band of tinsel and began to pin it up around the fireplace. A silver and orange glow cast across his grinning cheeks. "I may be a lunatic but it doesn't take a rocket scientist to see that she is lonely. Something about this time of year, while magical for others always puts her in a dismal mood. The fact her fiance is out of town certainly doesn't help the holiday spirit."

His son chuckled. "Walter you've only known her for a few months, I'd say that's hardly an adequate amount of time to make that judgment," Peter said, his brows scrunching together.

Walter glanced over his shoulder as he hung a stocking from the mantle. "If there's one thing about Agent Dunham I've learned it's that, while she is exemplary at her job, she isn't as put together as she makes herself out to be. You can see it in her eyes. I'd bet she spends her nights piling over files and a glass of wine." He straightened the stocking, faded and cracked, with Peter's name written in silver glitter, "She's used to horrific things, almost immune to it- my hypothesis as to why some of the things we see don't faze her." Standing tall he placed his hands on his hips and smiled at both his and Peter's stockings that hung. "I'm just saying I think she'd enjoy some company over the holidays and coming here to have dinner may just brighten that smile. It's a rarity these days, since Agent Scott's departure, but when she does," he glanced at Peter who indirectly blushed at having the same thought, "It's absolutely radiant."

"I'll ask her Walter, but no guarantees."

He nodded towards Peter, "Excellent. I know she'd absolutely fall in love with my pies. They're all you'd eat for a week, drove your mother crazy. Peter, be sure to ask her-"

Peter chuckled as he sipped his beer, "I'll ask her, Walter, and don't worry."

Two hours had passed in the blink of an eye as Walter pranced around the living room, tinsel and lights wrapped around his body made him glow. It put a brighter smile on Peter's face as he watched the excitement portrayed in Walter's movements as he decorated the house for the holiday season. Finally having a night to relax had put Peter's mind at ease as he watched Walter, a child whose excitement for Santa was hard to contain. With nimble wrists Walter had finally broke into the box with the tree ornaments, his favorite activity of all. Finishing up yet another beer he settled deeper into the couch. In between Walter's footsteps and the melodic rhythm of the records came a soft, hollow _knock__ knock_ at their door.

Quickly Walter scampered over to the door, his eyes bright with exclamation. "Agent Dunham!" Walter called happily as he opened the door to see her bundled up, her beanie barely covering the lower lobes of her frozen ears, "Olivia, please, do come in! Welcome, welcome! Peter, grab her coat!" Ushering her inside Olivia tried to hide a grin at Walter's hospitality late-night. He shuffled away as Peter stood.

"Hey," he said softly, "What are you doing here, everything okay?"

"Uhh," she hesitated; her breath froze in her throat, "Yeah. I… was just in the area for a walk and figured I'd stop over and say hello. I saw Walter from the sidewalk." She paused, licking her lips, "and, to apologize. Again."

He grinned in confusion, "Apologize for what?"

A sad expression crossed her reddened cheeks, "I don't know, really. I guess I just needed to see a friendly face and Charlie is out of the state for the holiday."

"So I'm your sloppy seconds then?"

With that Olivia laughed and bowed her head, an embarrassing shade of pink warmed her cheeks. Holding his hands out she took the cue and began to unbutton her coat. As she pulled the lapels over her shoulders Peter's hands brushed against hers, and like the gentleman he was, grabbed her jacket as it fell from her shoulders. "You're freezing. Can I get you something to drink?"

Following his lead, she stepped shyly towards the kitchen, taking in her surroundings. "Anything but eggnog, if you don't mind. I can't stomach that." Reaching underneath the table he grabbed a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. Popping a few ice cubes in each he poured the liquor and handed her the dark amber glass. Rising for a silent cheer he tapped the rim of his against hers and sipped it as she hid another smile. She nodded casually in thanks. Taking the bottle of Jack Daniels with him she followed Peter into the living room where a fresh pine tree had been set up and a few open boxes rested. "I didn't interrupt anything did I?"

Peter smiled at her shyness. "Not at all, Walter was getting into the holiday spirit," he motioned for her to sit, "So what's on your mind?"

She diverted and moved towards the fresh pine tree that graced the west wall, standing thick, fat and proud. Letting herself become lost in the pines she spoke, low and smoky, "I can't get his face out of my head." Bernie, Peter knew. "It's hard to wrap my head around. A man I knew all my life suddenly wasn't the man I knew. I'm a little shell shocked I guess."

Licking his lips Peter stood and picked up an ornament. "It's difficult, I understand. Trust is something that is a rarity these days, and it sucks. I felt the same way when my mother died. She said she'd never leave, and when she did I was… shell shocked," he echoed, "I trusted her to stay, to keep me safe. I felt betrayed for a long time, Olivia, but it gets better. Truly it does." Placing the ornament on a branch he huffed at the confused look on her face. "What, you've never decorated a Christmas tree before?"

"When I was an infant, maybe," she shrugged.

"Never the decorating type, ehh?" he teased, happy to see a glimmer back on her cheeks at the change in subject.

But her smile faded quickly, "No one was really around. My father passed away when I was four, and my mother was sick," she paused, glancing towards him quickly, "And my stepfather was either never around or completely trashed. He… well let's just say he disappeared when I was nine. Since then, our holidays were spent either in the hospital with my mother or letting her rest when she was in remission. She died when I was fourteen. Since then my sister and I never really anything to celebrate."

Peter let out a silent _oh_, and bit his tongue for a moment. "I'm sorry, Olivia," he muttered.

She shrugged casually. "It's fine, Peter, really." Reaching out she let her stare wonder into the thicket of pine needles as her fingers brush against the pointy tips as they released the fresh scent of pine needles, a sad, reminiscent smile on her face.

In her left hand she held a faded green ornament, frosted by the fingers of time and held on by an astoundingly aged string. Despite the smile on her face, the reflection in her eyes said it all. Like Walter said, it didn't take a rocket scientist to see past those bright emerald windows and into the dark, dismal world she came from. A new hole in his heart was carved for the FBI Agent standing next to him, a finger-breadth away, in his living room. Behind her strong shoulders and glowing eyes, Peter realized there was a deep, dark and hidden past to the woman he found himself falling for.

Before he knew what he was going Peter reached out for her hand and laced his fingers into hers until he too held the fragile string. Slowly he brought her hand to a bare branch and placed the ornament into the tree, its faded paint suddenly luminous as it perched over a bright light. He could feel her shudder at his touch before closing her palm around his rough hand, the lock clicked tightly around them. She glanced upward at him and smiled with half moon eyes, bright and shining like the stars. A light reflected off the diamond ring she wore on her left hand, making Peter mentally smack himself. Instead of reaching for the soft skin at her lips he released her hand and picked up another ornament box.

"Well then I'm honored to help you decorate your first tree," he forced a smile and handed her the box. Olivia chuckled and nodded silently, wrapping another string around her fingers and placing it nonchalantly on the branch. In silence they stood and one by one placed the decorations on the tree. Sometimes, Peter knew, silence was a better method of communication. Emotionless words and meaningless phrases could not hold the comfort in which he found Olivia to be, her attention focused and her shoulders relaxed, focused on the task before them. In her eyes he saw a feint emerald light, bright and sparkling with the simple companion he viewed himself to be.

Down the hall Walter stood in silence and watched the sight before him unfold. With his heart full of joy he smiled and disappeared into his study, closing the door quietly behind him...


End file.
